Cheerful Ron

By Sis Unsworth 

Ron was such a cheerful soul, who lived just down our street.

He was always so friendly, to all he chanced to meet,

even if a situation might cause him to be fearful,

he had the reputation of always being cheerful.

Ron fell and broke his leg one day, whilst running for the train,

he laughed and said, “a drop of gin, will soon relieve the pain.”

He always was so cheerful, and never had the blues,

and always cheered the other side, when his football team did lose.

It rained once on his holidays, like stair rods it came down,

we thought he’d come home miserable but Ron didn’t even frown,

in fact it was the opposite, as he stepped from his car,

“I’m glad that it did rain a lot, I could stay there in the bar.”

He surprised us all by moving house; he went one day last week,

Ron said, “but while its empty, go down and have a peek.”

So we went down to his old house, as he had left the key,

we all crept in so quietly, and wondered what we’d see,

I don’t think we were that surprised, and all gave out a cheer!

As now we too were cheerful, he’d left a crate of beer.

 

Copyright Sis Unsworth

Abbalar Tales ~ 27

 Abbalar Tales ~ 27 The Palace 2

by Len Morgan

Aldor spent two days reviewing relationships with old associates using the name Aldor, nobody recognised him or even guessed at his true identity.   He recalled his pre-enhancement impressions and found, almost without exception, he had to profoundly and fundamentally revise his views as a result of what he discovered inside their minds.   He suddenly realised he didn't know very much about most of the people he had lived with on a daily basis.   Others were so open and uncomplicated he could not understand how they had risen so high in the hierarchy.    Only after scanning the minds of their immediate superiors did he realise they preferred underlings who were reliable and open, by inference they did not pose a threat.   There was a distinct preference for the predictable, who would provide a buffer between themselves and the more devious minds.   In reality, the most efficient ones could face in two directions at once; they seemed uncomplicated whilst being even more devious than their masters.   They rose steadily in defiance of their apparent placid natures then when the moment was right they struck...

One such was Asba Dylon, not that Aldor could penetrate his mind deeper than a few layers.   His admiration for Asba knew no bounds; it grew and grew as he witnessed the man’s ability to manipulate others at will.   He never missed an opportunity to take advantage of a situation.   He knew intuitively how to milk a situation or a contact.   Aldor found it difficult to remember that Asba, unlike himself, could not scan minds.

Asba liked to offer little inducements that were to a person’s advantage but on a few occasions, when threats were required, he never hesitated.   He played the courtly game in an exemplary fashion.

   Ostensibly, Aldor was Asba's scribe, which provided him with a unique opportunity to sample selected minds and identify what motivated them.   At an opportune moment, he was able to slip small snippets of information into Asba's mind.   It was exhilarating to witness the man effortlessly change direction in mid-sentence.   As a scribe, he was unimportant and virtually invisible, which was just as well because he spent much of the time honing his scanning skills by unashamedly dipping into the minds of those around him.

   By the close of his third day he was becoming concerned that he had not yet located a worthy successor to his father, Endrochine.   He knew he had to return to the sanctuary of the control room tomorrow, before the sunset, or Skaa and Genna would pay a heavy price.   Constantly he was comparing the candidates with Asba, if he had been of royal blood there would be no need to search further.   Whilst scrutinising Fazeil's offspring he came upon a mind that was curious, quick, and nimble, he felt both disappointed and angry when he realised it was the mind a young woman.   By convention, the succession had always passed to the strongest and therefore a man.   A woman had never even been considered, that would have been too radical even for Corvalen at this time but…   He then realised he was being a little narrow with his parameters, he realised with a start that he would not have met the criteria he was setting.   So, he reviewed the minds he had already sampled and found three who warranted further investigation.   A disturbance was in progress that impinged on his thoughts.   He felt physical pain as if he had been struck, he was startled, and instinctively moved in the direction of the commotion.   An area had been hastily vacated, by people not wishing to become involved in the scuffle, leaving a wide area occupied by a giant figure dressed in black leather bearing the crest of the Regents Guard.   He was standing over a prone figure who lay still at his feet.   As he watched, the dark giant viciously kicked at the grounded figure displaying non-verbal contempt in the conscious levels of his mind.   'Administrator turd'   the fight was obviously over if indeed the grounded man had ever fought back.   But, the kicking continued relentlessly, he was intent on killing the man on the floor and nobody looked to be going to his aid.  

'What kind of man acts so?'  Aldor thought as he stepped forward, unwilling to be a passive witness to a murder.    His father never would have permitted it.   His first encounter with that dark predatory mind left no doubt of his stamp.   He was a sadistic, unemotional butcher with a purpose.   Whatever pretence had been used to promulgate the encounter, it was premeditated.   "Enough!" he yelled throwing his bulk against the big man, putting himself between them, forcing him back.   The crowd collectively drew breath.   He turned towards the man on the floor and realised with surprise and anger that it was Asba Dylon.

The guard stepped back, more in surprise than from the physical contact with Aldor.   His mind was filled with amusement, as he gazed down into the eyes of the young upstart who had dared intervene in palace business.   He could see no fear in those eyes.   Instead, he saw righteous anger; and was forced to avert his gaze.   "You use violence against the Regents Guard?" he asked in annoyance at being bested.

"I seek only to protect my master from senseless violence.    He is a man of words, not aggression, a man who has shown me nothing but kindness and friendship since my arrival in Corvalen."   The crowd shouted their approval.   "You act in an unseemly manner, and shame the uniform you wear," he yelled, for the benefit of the crowd, warming to the task.

The big man folded his arms and roared with laughter.  

"Mock me at your peril, sir," said Aldor stepping forward striking him formally on both cheeks.   "You are a bully and a coward attacking a harmless man of peace.   You besmirch your office and will be brought to account…"

"You intend teaching me a lesson in manners?   You would show me the error of my ways?"   he laughed with amusement, but would dearly have loved to squash the little insect but, a formal challenge had been issued.   The crowd laughed along with him which made him feel better.

"Let us see how you fare against a man with the means to defend himself," Aldor replied, "it will probably be a unique experience."

"Whores spawn!" He answered and his armoured fist shot out towards Aldor's face.

Aldor moved his head four inches and the fist passed harmlessly over his shoulder.   He grabbed it instantly, utilising the big man's momentum to throw him high into the air, adding his own body weight to bring him down hard on his head.   There was a crack and his head lay at an unnatural angle, he lay still and unmoving where he had landed.

Aldor turned away to carefully check Asba over, ensuring that nothing was broken, before helping him to his feet.

Asba's first comments were, "Thank you.    I fear by helping me you have drawn unnecessary attention to yourself.   He is/was one of Fazeil's personal bodyguard.   By issuing a challenge to him you have issued a challenge against Fazeil himself.   You will therefore be expected to meet with his champion."

"Ghorik?   He is a good man, my father's champion for over twenty years, never beaten."   Aldor smiled, "he gave me my first sword, made out of wood, I was five at the time.   He sat me on his knee and placed it in my hands, it was too heavy, I dropped it on his toe and he cried yield…   I could not bring myself to kill him; I must leave the city…"

"Unfortunately, Kaffeit has already done the deed," Asba said.

Aldor shook his head; the sadness he felt did not show on his face.   "Of course, Ghorik would never have allowed such scum into the elite Regents Guard."

As they spoke a detachment of the Guard arrived, led by a captain Vascelli, known and trusted by them both; a good man, one of the old guard.

"I'm sorry Counsellor Asba, I have orders to detain your clerk in connection with the demise of this," he poked with his toe at the corpse, making no secret of his distaste for the man who had so recently returned to the wheel.   Six guards formed up around Aldor; who looked askance of Asba.

"Go with them, there are a hundred high born who will bear witness to the truth of what took place here tonight."

"He is to be detained to ensure his appearance at the duel, which will be set for dawn tomorrow," Said captain Vascelli.

"But he is dead…" said Asba nodding towards the corpse.

"A challenge has been made against the Regents Guard and therefore, by implication, against the Regent himself.   It can only be settled between this man and the Royal Champion."

"What if my scribe beats Kaffeit?" Asba asked.

The good captain and his guard burst into laughter that lasted for several minutes.   Finally, he pulled himself together, "Then he will go free, mayhap even become the new champion." this precipitated further laughter, "you have my word on it." He said.

 

(to be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

 Memories forever.

Sujata Narang

I never knew I’d hold on to these memories forever.

Decades later, miles away, I never thought I would spell these days as the best ever.

As I look back, I think it was our magnificent getaway, anyways we didn’t want to participate in the concepts of business banking, or whatever as we'd already had a long day.

My brain was blocked; pages were already filled and I didn’t even have a decent pen.   

I found an abandoned pen refill on the floor; we shared it to copy the notes from the board.

Definitely it was a win! The meek dead refill saved us from the turbulent furious teacher when we didn’t even have a writing thing.

 

A few days later, one bright sunny day, we sneaked out of, yet another tedious financial engineering class swapped for some street shopping affair. 

Later that noon, we galloped down a big portion of junk, laden with spices and chillies.

And now we fancied a cup of Kesar milk, to quench the terrible dryness, as the burst of spices were getting uneasy to bear.  

I never knew, this was going to be a tale that I could tell forever, the day we were sweating like a pitcher filled with ice- cream, and carelessly using our laughing gear.

After we were filled with pleasure and food, we walked back in the lecture room, wrapping shameless pride.

The watch dog mistook us to be innocent ones, out of the bunch of blunt culprits bunking the lecture and strolling back in.

I never Knew it would be my most victorious disappearance from the classroom ever. 

We were discounted from yet another misery. Maybe the heavens were on our side.

I now know those glorious days will never return; the fun-filled days of my life.

The days back then were filled with careless chatter. The days I was doing my masters.

Those days when we had empty pockets, but every moment life was filled with love and laughter.

Nothing to worry, no bills to pay, nothing in particular that I was after.

I never knew I’d hold on and count those days as the best ever.

Recount and recall them forever and ever after.

Copyright Sujata Narang

 Road Hill House 

By Richard Banks

The following review of a recent Zoom course was written by myself for the WEA’s Newsletter. The WEA (Workers Educational Association) provides an extensive programme of courses on a wide variety of subjects. While it is too late to enrol for the Association’s Spring term courses (Jan - March), Adhoc courses will be held throughout the Spring and Summer. All courses during the pandemic have been taking place on Zoom but it is hoped to also hold face-to-face courses in Rayleigh, and elsewhere, later this year.

Anyone wishing to find out more about the WEA and its courses can do so on wea.org.uk or by phoning 0300 303 3464.

Richard

 

The Rise of Detective Fever

Tutor: Margaret Mills

10 week course

         This course, which under normal circumstances would have been held in the WI Hall, Rayleigh, was the first on-line learning experience for many of those taking part. Memorable for that reason it will also be remembered as an absorbing course in which the participants were able to exercise their deductive powers in trying to solve one of the most controversial murder cases of the Victorian era.        

         Fortunately, the official investigation was not undertaken by the amateur sleuths of Margaret’s course but by a new breed of policeman established by the Metropolitan Police in 1842. First based in Scotland Yard they were an elite, plain-clothed force, hand-picked from the best of the uniformed service. Although public reaction was initially wary – many perceiving them to be informants or Government spies – it was not long before they were receiving the enthusiastic endorsement of the national press and from there finding their way into the popular fiction of Dickens and Wilkie Collins. Since then they have never been out of fashion and are ever-present in the books and TV series of our own time.

         Prominent among the early detectives were Charley Field (the master of disguise) Adolphus ‘Dolly’ Williamson and Jack Whicher, known as the ‘Prince of Detectives’. In an age before fingerprints, DNA and other forensic aids the new detectives adopted a systematic, wide-ranging approach to criminal investigations that also made use of physiognomy, the art of judging character from a person’s appearance. The reactions of suspects, their facial expressions and mannerisms were therefore closely observed by these early exponents of the scientific approach to solving crime.

         In 1849 the reputation of the new detectives was secured when they were called in to investigate the ‘The Bermondsey Horror’, the brutal murder of Patrick O’Connor, a Customs official and moneylender. The crime sensation of the decade (eventually filling seventy-two pages of The Times) was solved by Field and Whicher who not only conclusively established the guilt of the culprits but apprehended them in distant parts of the UK wherein earlier times they might well have avoided capture.

         Eleven years later the London detectives were to face their greatest challenge yet when Wiltshire Magistrates requested their assistance in investigating the murder of Francis Saville Kent, the three-year-old son of well to do factory inspector, Samuel Kent. The initial investigation by the local constabulary had, to use a modern expression proved unfit for purpose and by the time the detective assigned to the case, Jack Whicher, arrived at Samuel Kent’s large house the much picked-over crime scene was of little help to his enquiries.

         Another complication was the large number of suspects. Road Hill House where Kent lived with his second wife, Mary was also home to four children from his first marriage and three from his marriage to Mary. In addition to three live-in servants, six more worked in or about the house during the day. While firm evidence was in short supply it soon became apparent to Whicher that the older children, now in their teens and twenties, resented their half-siblings, and that their father was much disliked by local residents and former servants. Rumours that he had, and was having, improper relationships with female servants was another discordant undercurrent that seemed somehow connected to the murder.

         Who did it?  I’m not saying. If you want to know you will have to do the course. But if you do, be prepared to be surprised!

         Our thanks to Margaret for an intriguing course, and to the WEA for their stewardship of Zoom.

 

Richard Banks,

Secretary, Rayleigh Branch

 

My Valentine 

By Peter Woodgate 

Although, at present, we are far apart,

a result of mankind’s dark insanity,

I focus on the dreams within my heart

not tainted by the world of negativity.

For each and every day I think of you,

untouched by earthly deeds and selfish thoughts,

within my heart the purity of love is unconfined,

not physical, as in the method we are taught.

Whilst free of substance, wonders cannot be destroyed

and ecstasy will burn beyond our dreams,

although we cannot touch as in the worldly sense

our spirits intertwine, or so it seems.

For we have more than love that fades

as flesh grows old,

Not bound by laws of nature, we are free

From all restrictions that withhold mere mortals

and no longer blinded, we can see.

Our passion is euphoric, joyous to the end

and down some by-way in the mists of time,

I will take your hand and we will realise

what it is to love, my valentine.

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate

 Brothers

By Jane Scoggins 

John was running late and it bothered him. He was a stickler for timekeeping, but today the public transport system had got the better of him. He knew his brother would not mind, as unlike him, Ray had never been a stickler for time, and would not be bothered in the slightest that he was running late. Hurrying along as quickly as his gammy knee would allow, John noticed, that despite nearing the end of September, gardens were still looking nice with geraniums, begonias and Japanese anemones still blooming brightly. He must remember to tell Ray. He had always been a keen gardener. Not so much John, who had preferred sitting in the garden amongst the flowers. His wife Moira had been the gardener in years past and he had mowed the lawn. Now they lived in a flat with a balcony, where Moira had adorned the small space very prettily with hanging baskets in the summer and a few pots of all-year-round greenery and spring bulbs

   John apologised to his brother for being late. Although he knew it was quite unnecessary, it made him feel better.

   ''Moira has gone to see her sister and will come by and pick me up afterwards, I don’t think she will be all that long. We want to have time for a bit of lunch in town before she goes to the hairdressers. Our neighbour is having a drinks party to celebrate her 75^th birthday. She is a lovely woman. I probably told you that she lost her husband last year. They travelled the world together and she misses him a great deal. Now she doesn’t go further than Reading to visit her daughter and grandchildren. When she is away for a few days we feed her cat, a rather grumpy old moggy. They are devoted to each other and he probably rather resents us intruding into his territory. He actually scratched me yesterday. On a lighter note, West Ham beat Southampton 2-1. I know! Amazing isn’t it. I watched the game in the pub with Ronnie. We were like a couple of teenagers whooping it up with the lads in there. We had another pint to celebrate. Moira said I smelt like a brewery when I got home. On a sadder note, I read in the paper that Terry Bland has died. Haven't seen him for years but he was a real laugh wasn't he? Remember him at school that time when he mixed something in the science lab that caused an explosion and singed his hair really badly, making clouds of green smoke and an obnoxious smell that lingered for days. Its a wonder he wasn't expelled. He was a bright lad though and went on to university and ended up as something quite important in the computer industry. He married Susan Jeffrey Remember her from swimming club?  A real stunner, and with legs up to her armpits. She was a brainbox too and totally out of our league although you drooled over her like a puppy. I never told you did I, that I snogged her after the swimming gala one year. I reckon you would have punched me and not spoken to me for a week if you had known. Anyway, I redeemed myself by allowing you to pretend to be me when Jackie Flynn asked me if I wanted to go to the pictures. I knew you liked her too. We were so alike then that with a bit of tweaking and swapping of sweaters I don't suppose she noticed, and you said got to snog her in the dark in the back row of the cinema. We had a few laughs being twins growing up.

  Well, brother, I will have to go in a minute as I see Moira coming up the road. She's a bit slow these days but as bright and cheerful as she has always been these past 49 years. Can't believe we will be celebrating our Golden Anniversary next year. We are thinking of going on a cruise. Never done that before, so there will be lots to tell you when we get back. Here she comes up the path so I won't keep her waiting. Oh, I meant to tell you that the gardens are still blooming with geraniums, begonias and those tall pink Japanese anemones. Goodbye then old chap, see you again soon. Getting a bit stiff on this bench now so I will stand up and get going. Moira is waving at me from the gate. Looks like you will be having a bit more company today. I can see a hearse and a cortège approaching and about to come through the cemetery gates. I will wait a minute beside you to pay my respects as they progress. They must be going over the other side of the cemetery nearer the chapel. I can see the vicar now, he’s waiting over there beside a grave. May they, like you dear brother, rest here in peace. God bless you. I miss you”   

Copyright Jane Scoggins

 

Abbalar Tales ~ 26

 Abbalar Tales ~ 26 The Palace 1

By Len Morgan

“Mistress, they have escaped from the cellars.”

“Fools, how did you let it happen; Harby…”

“There is a low ventilation grill in each of the cells, on the outside there is an expanse of underground tunnels…”

‘Fazeil, what know you of tunnels beneath the city?’ she asked using mind speak.

‘There are extensive tunnels circling the inside walls of the city, they have remained unused and empty, ever since they were discovered some five-six hundred years ago.   There is access from the palace but no other known way in or out.’ He replied.

‘Harby has discovered a number of exits, through the cellars of the outer rim houses.’

‘I caution you that they should not become common knowledge lest our own designs be compromised.   Those access routes must be disguised.   The security of the city is at stake, only the Caliph and a few of his closest advisers, currently, have access.’

‘Four of the intended offerings have got loose and fled into those tunnels.’ She warned.

.-…-. 

He stepped through the portal, surrounded by mist, the missive to Asba Dylon still in his hand.   As the mist cleared he carefully consigned it to his pouch.   He found himself standing at the hub of a lightning-struck tree whose shards spread out, parallel with the ground, like the spokes of a giant wheel.   He sprang from the stump, bending his knees for what he judged to be a hop of several feet only to find, to his dismay, that he'd completely misjudged the distance.   It was in fact nearer six feet and he had to roll ungracefully to avoid a bad landing.   He stood up and turned to memorise the location of the portal for when he needed to return.   He only had four days and may need to find it in a hurry, before their dreams turned to dark terror and consumed them both as surely as they would had they been reality.   He turned slowly through a complete circle mapping his surroundings and committing them to memory.   He experienced a rush of excitement as he realised where he was.   These woods were the private hunting reserves of the first family of Corvalen.   He had spent many happy hours here as a child, hunting small game rabbits, pigeon, grouse, deer and other game.

"Hey, you!   What are you doing here?" a familiar voice demanded.  

He turned with a broad grin on his face expecting to see Elroed, the master woodsman, who managed these woodlands.   Thirty yards separated them; he noted Elroed held a partially flexed bow pointing menacingly in his direction.   No smile or look of recognition showed on the man’s face.  

"Good day master woodsman, I was passing and thought to see for myself the fabled Northern Reserve of Corvalen," He said.    "You are Elroed?" he questioned squinting into the morning sun.   "I have been very interested in the reports I have heard about your crop rotation theories, your coppicing practices, and methods of animal husbandry.   I decided long ago that if ever I found myself in this area I would look you up and see them for myself.   I am very impressed."  As he spoke he skimmed the surface of Elroed's mind.   He was surprised to find a deep sadness underlying his thoughts.   His father had disappeared just prior to the last conjunction.   He sensed tenderness, deeply underpinned by strength and a burning sense of commitment to the work and to destiny.   He was potentially far greater than his father.   He had chosen to plough a lone furrow, and Aldor felt a great affinity with the man.  

"My father is gone; he was a pioneer, his methods inspired, and years before their time."  It was no boast, just a simple statement of fact.  "I will continue in his stead as best I can, and seek to emulate him, it will be a labour of love."

"Forgive me but, you are so like the description I was given of him," in truth he had seen them both a scant seven month earlier.   The son a tall spindly youth, his father the same height but as broad again, rangy with a face filled with strength and purpose.   Each head topped off with a mop of wild unruly copper locks.   On closer inspection his youth became obvious, but at a distance, they could have been twins.   It was only fitting he should be appointed to continue his father's forestry programs and bring them to fruition.

"You are trespassing.   Who be you stranger," he asked in an easy drawl with portents of menace, "your words infer awareness of our ways so you must know these woodlands are private, now I must ask you to leave sir…"

"They call me Aldor, I am here to seek out a member of your court, an Asba Dylon by name, do you know of him?"

"Asba is a good friend; he lives on the fringes just outside the walls.   He is a true character.   When chided about his humble home he will explain it allows him to keep in touch with common people and therefore with public opinion.   In reality, he uses the generous stipend he is paid, as leader of the High Council of Corvalen, to educate and support most of the talented waifs and strays that abound in this city.   They would otherwise all wind up in prison.   He has them indentured and bound to local craftsmen tradesmen and businessmen.   If you are a friend of Asba's you will find plenty who will sing his praises with you.   I myself have two bright young prentices, keen and willing to learn woodcraft, animal husbandry, and good farming techniques.  There are a number of farms eager to take young men with their skills.   There are others indented to blacksmiths, sword-smiths, jewellers, and the local tannery.   I hear he has even pressed a number of young strays into service at the palace under the master armourer; others are working as pages, scullions and cooks.   Many are supporting adopted families, Asba is not a wealthy man but his heart is filled with riches and, he is rich in the hearts of the local communities all around the outskirts of the city.   Walk with me and I will guide you to his home."

They entered a dimly lit house, in no way reflecting the status of its owner.   "This is the house of Asba Dylon," Elroen said, "I must leave now, I have pressing business."    He tapped a seemingly random pattern on the roughly painted blue door and was gone.

The door opened silently, revealing an overweight man in his mid-forties, his hair black but thinning, his lower face covered by a greying beard encircling his broad lips.   He scrutinised Aldor inquisitively through his bright intelligent green eyes.   His serious visage broke into a warm welcoming smile.  

"Well met young prince," he said, "come on inside."

"You know of me?" Aldor asked, unable to hide his surprise.

"The brat who thought I would let him win at Kingdoms?" Asba asked.

"Damnation, the world continues to shrink."   He said recognition shining in his eyes.

"But, how did you recognise me?"

"Well you see, there is a computer under this city." Asba winked.   "It was a test," he said, a knowing grin on his face. 'You didn't fare too well from that one as I remember.   Potential revisionists are not exactly common, one in a thousand we are, it takes a rare talent to commune with control.'

'You are mind speaking.' Aldor said in amazement.

"Relax, you’re with friends. And the HM has been tuned out of your mind." Asba said.

"But you serve Fazeil…"

"I serve the Regent or Caliph, whoever that may be, I serve the ideal of what might come to pass, I serve the people" said Asba Dylon.

'My Brother…'

"Fazeil?   He is Jazim's creature."

"You mean…"

Asba nodded sadness in his eyes.

"I do not know if I could perpetuate the carnage that has gone on in the past" Aldor began.

"Spoken like a true patriot.    None would believe your genealogy now anyway," he grinned and made a sweeping gesture stepping back to fully take in his guest.  "You have changed too much and too fast for 'standards' to credit your claims."  

"Then it should be one of the others" Aldor replied at once.

"That is for you to decide, you will need to make the best selection.   It will take all your newly acquired skills and then something extra.   You are of course familiar with the palace and its intrigues.   You should know those who must be ruled out immediately, so we have confidence you will make the right choice.   You have less than half a year to shatter old traditions that have stood for thousands of years" Asba summed up his predicament far too succinctly for his liking.

'I will never become Caliph' he thought sadly, slowly coming to terms with the reality.

'Of course not, you are destined for much greater things.   The net you cast must be wider by far than Corvalen' said Asba.    "But, where are my manners, sit you down Aldor.   Yasmin!   Please bring tea and cakes for our young guest.   He is to be my right hand at court; from this moment he will be my scribe."

(to be Continued)

Copyright Len Morgan