MY OLEANDER’S ORRIBLE

 MY OLEANDER’S ORRIBLE (For all those gardeners)

By Peter Woodgate 

My newsletter from Meadow Croft

Was neatly typed in rhyme

I sat and read with interest

Because I had the time.

A poem was the challenge

For all those budding bards

I thought, why not, give it a try

Instead of playing cards.

But what about the subject

How do I begin?

I looked out to the garden

And wrote this on a whim.

 

My Oleander’s orrible

The buds they won’t mature

I’ve fed it everything from tea

To good old horse manure.

The Acer has got acne

My Salix too has spots

The Corkscrew Willow’s looking weird

And tied itself in knots.

The Callistemon’s bottle, it has gone

The Roses all have rust

The Clematis has a mid-life crisis

And wilts at my disgust.

The Impatiens are not busy

The Jasmine’s looking tame

The Plumbago’s got lumbago

And the Lilac’s looking lame.

The Schrizophragma can’t make up its mind

It clings on to itself

The Skimmia has an option

Should it be left on the shelf?

The Hedera gives me a headache

The Campanula’s not ringing

The Cordyline’s been eaten

And the Strelitzia’s not singing.

The Sambucus, it is very old

But it can still look nice

All it needs is TLC

And lots of good advice

 

It seems a garden is a place

That can be full of woe

So I shall up and make my way

To a “Centre” that I know.

Where all the staff are friendly

And should I need a hand

In finding anything from seeds

To topsoil, bark or sand.

I know they’ll try their utmost

Everything within their power

And may even let me know just how

To make my Oleander flower.

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate

 All The Fun Of The Fair

By Jane Scoggins

My Dad used to love telling me tales about the old days, and as a kid I loved to listen. When I was in my teens and taking more of an interest in history I became more engrossed. What I had previously thought had just been stories to keep me and my sister occupied, were actually real things that happened. I realised that Dad’s stories, handed down from his Dad and his Grandfather before him, were bound together by truth and historical fact.

  Whenever the Funfair came to town, which was twice a year, Easter and August Bank Holiday weekend, my Dad would take my sister and I, right from when we were quite small. He loved the Fair and at these times metamorphosed from a quiet man who worked somewhere in the city, to a jaunty animated man. On one of these occasions, I remember my sister saying

 'Have you noticed how Dad changes when the fairground comes to town? He turns into a fairground man himself, and walks like a cowboy?'  We had laughed at this, and I will always remember it, as it was true. He's gone now, my dear old Dad, but I remember him most when he came alive at the Fair. He was not a big man, but despite that, he was strong and amazed us with his strength as he wielded the big wooden mallet hitting the metal pad so hard that the bell rang and people turned to look and cheer as it didn’t happen all that often. The fairground man with the trilby hat tipped back on his head and spotted kerchief around his neck, always shook Dad's hand and congratulated him with a big grin. My Dad loved that. To our amusement he would swagger off to the rifle range this was another surprise. Dad was excellent at this too. We would watch as he picked up a rifle, examine it carefully, and slowly raise it before taking aim, just like a real cowboy. And then in his own time and with one eye squinting down the barrel, he would take aim at the row of moving plastic ducks. He always won at least once and walked away beaming with confidence, with a couple of cuddly toys for us, or a pack of cards for himself. At home, Dad sometimes got out old photographs. The one we liked most was the one from Rayleigh Trinity Fair in 1899, the year his father, my Grandfather was born. The year my Great grandfather travelled from south London, to help at the Fair. The Trinity Fair become quite famous and was very popular. It was held every year in the centre of Rayleigh on Trinity Monday and Tuesday, usually on or around May 29. Combined with the Horse Fair, it drew horse dealers with their carthorses, cobs, nags and ponies, agricultural workers and farmers, hawkers, stallholders, travellers and musicians from the surrounding area in Essex. 1899 was the year that the railway came to Rayleigh so the event was busier than ever that year. Hundreds of people came to the two-day event and the many public houses that had rooms to let such as The Crown The White Horse, The Half Moon, The Lion, and The Paul Pry were crammed to the rafters with paying guests.

  The story goes that Great grandfather, after the birth of his third child, Thomas, (my grandfather), had needed to seek additional work to supplement his job at the coir matting factory in Kingston upon Thames. The fibre came from the nearby Middle Mill on the Hogsmill River and was advertised in the Surrey Comet as ''The only coconut fibre manufacturer in Surrey''

It was from here that the enterprising Arthur Harris bought coconuts and set up a coconut shy as a side stall at a local fête. It became so popular that he made it his business and travelled around the country to the big fairs. By chance, my Great grandfather made his acquaintance and came to Rayleigh as his helper. Albert had tall metal spikes made with a cup at the top made of twisted metal. The coconut sat in the cup and for one penny, or seven balls for sixpence, a hard wooden ball could be thrown at the coconut. The object of the game of course was to knock the coconut from the cup to the floor and so win the coconut. It was not an easy thing to do and needed strength. Hence women and children were allowed to stand at a line nearer to the shy. The nuts, imported mainly from Ceylon at the time, by the fibre mills, were not primarily imported for the coconut itself, but for the fibre and the quality of the interiors was not the main concern. Hence there were sometimes, a few bad nuts, that once cracked open, the coconut flesh was brown and the milk dried up. The banner advertising the game came with the reassuring words ' Bad Nuts Exchanged. Most children, and indeed most adults at the time had never played such a game or toasted coconut. It was such a novelty it pulled in crowds of people all wanting to have a go. The children asked all sorts of questions about the coconuts and were sent off to ask their schoolmaster when they returned to the schoolroom by the church, to show them on the map of the world where Ceylon was. Great-grandfather laughed as children and adults cracked open the coconuts to see and taste, rather hesitantly the contents inside. Some folk held their prize as a trophy and took it home to show friends and neighbours. Albert and Great-grandfather were kept busy the two days making a good profit. Great-grandfather had marvelled at Albert’s costume and showmanship, all very elaborate and designed to pull in the crowds. In the late evening when everyone had gone home they would sit outside the Spread Eagle with their beer and pipes, chatting to the horse traders and stallholders. Unfortunately, such events attracted bad company as well as good.  Pickpockets and thieves mingled with the crowds. In fact, Great grandfather and Albert were witness to a robbery as they sat outside The Spread Eagle. A gang of rough men started a fight and causing a distraction, a man's purse and pipe were stolen. Great-grandfather and Albert were called as witnesses and the thieves taken to Rochford lock-up. That year and previous years too, there had been much drunken, rowdy behaviour and reports of theft and assault. So the man responsible for the fair, a Mr James Rogers, called a halt to the Trinity Fair and it ceased to be although the horse fair continued for some time.

 In 2017, the Trinity Fair was resurrected in a modern format with stalls and rides for the children. I got out Dad’s photo and showed it to my own family. Thinking about Dad, his father, and Grandfather, we went to the Fair and headed straight for the coconut shy.

Copyright Jane Scoggins 

Trinity Fair

 REVIVED

Peter Woodgate

Dreams unfolding

and horses thundering on the sands at dawn,

seagulls crying

and mists that mingle with a thought that’s torn

from half-sleep

the slumber of a mind aware,

cautious of a notion

and love I could not share.

 

This drowsiness, now, has ended

and concepts of the gloom to come

have disappeared,

with tenderness, my heart, now free, is won.

My dreams are not now apprehensive

containing spectres that accrue,

instead there is a warm and glowing light,

a radiance, that’s you.   

Copyright Peter Woodgate

 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