Catching The Bus

By Len Morgan

The number 20 takes me home to Hullbridge, or in the other direction it takes me to Rayleigh Town Center, Southend Hospital or to Southend-on-Sea: if I'm in a seaside frame of mind.

The buses run every 20 minutes unless of course, they cut one out!  The timings are 3 past the hour, 23 past and 18 minute too.

Invariably I get to the top of my road at 20 past and watch the 23 past, vanishing into the distance, (it came early).  When I try to outsmart it by arriving 10 minutes early, I wind up waiting 30 minutes (the buggers cut one out).

I used to drive everywhere unless it was a short trip in which case I would walk, I never used the buses.

 Then I retired and being environmentally aware I sold my car and applied for my bus pass.  I think I was entitled at age 60, but I didn't retire until I was 67, (nine years ago), well I didn't exactly retire, the Oil Refinery was put into administration so in a sense it retired me.  I went there as a temp for 3 months and wound up staying there for 7 years; they called me the super-temp!

At first, it was no hardship catching the bus.  On nice sunny days, I would wait at the stop, listening to mp3 books on my Walkman.   Then the weather changed, it became cold and wet and with buses being cut out I found running for a bus that arrived early was a desperate act of self-preservation!  If I missed it I would have to wait up to an hour.  I believe the drivers got to know me and took a sadistic pleasure in closing their doors and driving away, having watched me do the 100-yard dash in 10 seconds flat.  I'm not proud of the language I yelled; after buses as they disappeared into the distance... 

I caught cold after cold and felt quite miserable; in one desperate moment of weakness I even considered getting another car...  Then the sun returned, the service improved and I found that even if I did miss the bus I could spend twenty minutes in idle indulgence listening to music, chatting to the twerlies (waiting for the 18 minutes to 9 bus), or listen to my latest mp3 book.   

At least at 76, the bus is free: So, I did some costing's on my car and discovered to my horror that it cost me £9 a day (£275 a month) while just standing outside my door.  If I use it I would incur the additional cost of fuel and parking.  On a state pension, you could travel in style, and starve.  So, on balance, I'll be catching the bus. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Costings:

Car costing £10K depreciated over 5 years   ~   £2,000 pa

Road tax for a year                                    ~        176

Insurance Fully comprehensive                   ~        300

Tyres, Repairs/maint/cleaning materials etc ~        924

                                 Total annual expense  =  £3,400

 

 

 THE GLORIOUS 12TH

By Rosemary Clarke

Now we'll remember the Glorious 12th
As something other than hunting.
So be of good cheer it's the best of the year
Let's put up the chains and the bunting!
But remember this day will not stay this way
If we're starting to flout all the rules
So let us beware and be careful out there
Or they'll shut down our shops and our schools.
Our Great British life will just end up in strife
If we falter with masks or with paces
If we all watch out we'll give Covid a clout
And come back to our wide-open spaces.
So let's think of us all and we'll have a ball
Let's keep clean the beaches and parks
If we try to care for all creatures out there
Life could really be quite a lark!

Be careful, safe and happy wherever you are.

Copyright Rosemary Clarke

 CHAIN OF EVENTS 

Jane Scoggins 

  When Sophie tripped on the pavement and badly cut her knee there seemed to be a lot of blood and before she knew it some kind person had phoned for an ambulance. Several people gathered and all showed concern. More than one person mentioned suing the council in case it had been caused by a loose paving stone or something like that. The young paramedic that arrived in the ambulance car soon confirmed there were no broken bones and although the gash on her knee was nasty it did not warrant stitches. Sophie remained calm and lucid and confirmed that she had not banged her head in the fall. A trip to the hospital was thus averted. The paramedic cleaned the wounded knee put on a couple of steristrips and a large plaster and escorted Sophie to her flat fifty yards away. When her daughter called in after work Sophie made light of the whole thing.

  She enjoyed her activities, in particular the various U3A meetings on different subjects. The gardening club was one of her favourites as she had a wealth of knowledge about plants having gardened for many years. When the children were young she and her husband had also had an allotment and had grown prize winning onions and carrots amongst other things. Although she now lived in a ground floor flat she still took pride in growing things in large terracotta pots on the sunny patio outside her back door. Despite a sore knee the day after the fall Sophie was not deterred from getting on the bus to join another group of like minded people for a talk on local history. She took some photographs of her own to share with the group. Most days she was up and off doing something. Sophie prided herself on keeping her mind and body active. She was becoming less interested in national news but continued to take a newspaper so she could do the crossword. Determined not to let herself sink into complacent old age Sophie continued to look out for even more activities she could join. Most recently it had been a writing group at the library.

 Sophie's daughter Ann was concerned that her Mum was taking on too much and regularly told her mother so in a kindly way that she should slow down as all this activity was tiring her. More than a few times she had called in at 6pm on her way home and found her Mum fast asleep in a chair with something cooking on the hob or the oven on, and a slight smell of burning. But Sophie always rallied and dismissed her daughter's concerns with a wave of her hand saying ''I just closed my eyes for a few minutes that’s all''

      When Sophie took a tumble the next time it was a bit more serious. She had slipped on the wet pavement on the way to the corner shop to get some milk. She was not badly hurt, just a bit of a twisted ankle, which prevented her from getting up unaided. She knew someone would come along soon so she waited. When someone did come along they very kindly helped her to her feet but realising she could not easily weight bare and she was cold and wet, called for an ambulance. This time the paramedics took Sophie to A&E for a check up. She agreed for the nurse to look in her handbag for her daughter's telephone number so she could be contacted. As a result of the medical assessment, Sophie stayed overnight.

   Ann answered the nurse's questions fully whilst her Mum dozed. In the morning Sophie was disorientated and it was agreed that there should be more investigations before being discharged.

    When Sophie was discharged she was told she needed to rest and for the time being not go back to her many activities straight away. Although disappointed she accepted she was not ready. She felt tired all of a sudden and agreed that maybe she had been overdoing it.

     When Sophie had slipped on the wet pavement on the way to the shop, she had actually been a quarter of a mile away in the other direction. It had been dark, 10pm, and she had on her dressing gown and slippers. Ann told the Drs at the hospital that her Mum had been losing her memory for some time but seemed able to function day to day and loved going to all her clubs and activities. So much so that she had neglected the terracotta pots and they were full of weeds.

 

  When Ann contacted the various people from the U3A she found that they were quite relieved. Apparently, Sophie had been going downhill for some time but they hadn’t wanted to say as she so loved joining in. Truth be told she had repeated the same story about her childhood in the history group at every meeting even though the meetings were about something completely different.

The gardening group reported that Sophie had gradually forgotten most of the names for the garden plants and in trying to retrieve useful information often resorted to saying things like ''Probably time to put in onion seeds now'' or  '' I must cut back my dahlias this week'' 

    Ann had also noticed that her Mum was forgetful but she was so good at covering her tracks that initially she didn’t worry too much. She had noticed though that when she glanced at her Mum’s newspaper, the crossword although filled in and looked impressive, the answers did not fit the questions, they were just words that fitted the spaces.

  The writing group had been very sweet. They said that Sophie often got the time wrong and arrived before the start or halfway through. When reminded she had always had a good excuse like the bus was late or a friend had kept her chatting. When asked if she had written anything, the answer had been no, not yet, but she had brought along a book of poems she liked written by her father. The poems were actually by Keats, but no one said anything. She was such a charming woman and loved to sit and listen to the writers reading out their stories. Most weeks she seemed to think that at least two of the group were new since the last meeting, and asked to be introduced again. Quite often she would doze off for a few minutes at a time and wake smiling and bemused.

  Sophie now enjoys her trips to daycare but continues to believe it is the U3A. Ann replaced the weeds in the terracotta pots, but one day saw that they had been uprooted and put in the bin. Her mum said proudly that she had done the weeding and would be planting carrots this year. She now enjoys watering the pots and tending the weeds that have resumed ownership.

 

 Copyright Jane Scoggins

Little Robin

by Shelley Miller

 

THANK YOU FROM A GRATEFUL WORLD.

By Rosemary Clarke

By being a carer
You make the world fairer
By doing your best
You put us to the test.
By playing your part
You make us all start
To love and to feel
A world that is real.
You make better things
That's where healing begins.

Thank you to Carers everywhere; where would we be without you?

 

Abbalar Tales ~ 32

 Abbalar Tales ~ 32 Awakening 1

By Len Morgan

It all happened so quickly, the crowd were stunned, some hadn't even settled to watch the spectacle.

"You have been exonerated by combat" the Arbiter's announcement was followed by silence, then gravity caught up with the corpse and it tumbled slowly down the steps with a metallic sound like a tinker selling pots and pans.   There was some nervous laughter and the spell was broken, the crowd roared its approval of the outcome.   After several minutes of pandemonium the Arbiter held up his arms for silence, the noise continued unabated.   He rapped continually on the hollow slab stone with the butt end of his staff, until the noise, subsided a little, like tidal waters breaking on a shingle beach, then to a low hum, and finally to a hushed expectancy…

"Who will the victor name as Regent!" he asked ritually.   Every ear strained to hear what he would say.

'Now is your chance man,' he thought. 'speak your own name, say it now!'   The child within him cried out “Ahlendore!”    He smiled and held up his hand, "The man I champion is the best equipped to lead our people forward into a new age, his name is…" he staggered back, knocked from his feet by the force of an arrow now protruding from his chest.   He looked along the line of its trajectory straight into the manic eyes of Bedelacq, in the shallow guise of Fazeil, the bow still vibrating in his hand.   The crowd followed his gaze, surprise turning to anger in an instant and they became a mindless mob.   The look in the eyes, now definitely Fazeil's, turned to dismay then horror as the mob turned on him.   No single person could be held responsible for his death, but they tore him limb from limb, what remained was unrecognisable as a human corpse.

In the confusion that ensued Asba was able to reach him and push the shaft all the way through his body, it hurt, like hades, as much as anything he'd ever experienced in his lifetime, bringing tears to his eyes.   Aldor took the book from Asba's hands and thrust the arrow into it with all his strength, then clasped it to his chest, it appeared he'd had a lucky escape the arrow had entered the book instead of his body.

The Arbiter knelt beside him. First a look of concern then one of relief crossed his face in rapid succession.   Aldor opened his eyes as if he had been stunned.

"Paveil" he whispered, then louder, he yelled "the new Regent is Paveil."

Aldor regained his feet as one of his guard escorts ran towards him, shedding his helm gauntlets and armour as he came.   The Arbiter noticed and recognized him at once as Regent Paveil, and hurried to meet him.

"Are you alright?" Paveil asked, genuine concern on his voice.

Aldor nodded, "The sun is gone, my friends may already be dead, but I must try to save them," he said.

"To horse,"   Asba yelled waving to a distant helper "Elroed, we need to reach the Northern Reaches in haste," he called.

They rode hard, but long before reaching the Northern Reserve Veinen and a heaven full of stars were in plain view.  

   Asba and Aldor entered the Portal.   Aldor, filled with trepidation for what he might find.   He owed Genna so much.   Skaa, though not what he would call a friend, had earned his respect, he was brave and he stuck to his principles.

'How are they?   Are we in time to save them?'   Were the thoughts he directed towards the machines in the control center.  

'They live still, but time is important, seconds count.   The man is experiencing extreme agitation.   You cannot simply awaken them, they are too far extended.   You will have to enter their dreams and make them aware that they are dreaming.   Take care, you could also die in such an intense dream state.'

"I can help only one at a time, how do I choose?" asked Aldor.

"You must help the man, he knows you," said Asba "I will go to Genna, she is one of my chicks, I need to have physical contact with the subject but I can communicate as well then as I can with the machines," Asba explained taking her hand.

"Aldor made the decision, do it!" He said.

.-…-. 

Asba cast his mind back to a memory of Genna's childhood:

"Help me Asba, I need you to help me please, he's back!"   The child cried out in the night.

Asba had always lived on the fringes of the city, but never alone.   His had always been an open house, a haven for the hungry the helpless, the lost, and destitute.   Home to orphans and runaway's the waifs and strays, who without him might not have survived. He taught them to be resilient and strong. 

"There, there, sweetness nothing will harm you, Asba is here,"   He stroked her brow soothing her fears.   Brushing her hair, stroking and soothing the periphery of her mind.   He became aware of a presence, a shadowy figure, fast retreating.

"Hold fast," he commanded.   The figure stopped and turned, "Who are you," he demanded.  

The figure simply leered at him in dumb insolence, then drew a knife, and lunged at him.  "She's my child, you'll never wrest her from me," he cackled.   

The knife slashed towards Asba's throat.   At the last instant, his reflexes took over and deflected the strike.   He felt a stinging pain on the back of his hand an instant before his own blade, slit her stepfather's jugular, ending her nightmares forever.   He looked down in surprise at the gash extending from above the wrist to the first joint of his index finger, where the skin had curled under but had not yet started to bleed, reminding him it was not simply a child’s dream.  

He remembered, that the very next morning the spindly seven-year-old Ginna had sought him out.

"Thank you for saving me from that evil man," she said, "I'm sorry he hurt you," she kissed his bandaged hand and he smiled.

"Off to school with the others Genna," he'd said.   "You owe me, so you must work hard at your lessons to repay your debt."

He looked down at the white scar on the back of his hand.   He gazed upon the face of the beautiful young woman lying on the cot.   Kneeling down beside her, he placed his palm on her brow and closed his eyes.

.-…-. 

The night was black. No moon or stars in the sky. Rain fell in torrents as the storm reached a crescendo stinging his exposed skin.   Skaa fancied he was covered with red impact blotches but couldn't confirm it, the darkness was so complete.   Except, when a lightning flash whipped through the sky like a malevolent tongue, briefly illuminating his surroundings confirming either that his course was true or that he needed to change direction.

For some time he had sensed a presence but had failed to locate where.   He was aware of the inadequacy of the flimsy summer clothes he was wearing but had not had the time or opportunity to change into something more appropriate.   He smiled and immediately felt the chill lessen.   He heard rustling from the bushes somewhere over to his left; he felt something brush against his leg, possibly a small animal disturbed by the storm.

Aldor saw, by the next lightning flash, Skaa's silhouette stumbling through the scrub, breathing heavily.   "I see you have lost your limp," he said.

Skaa halted, turning in mid-stride to confront the young man approaching.  

"What in Lyandra's name are you doing here?   Thought I left you at the pillars of Orden."

"So you did.   You know who I am?"

"Of course.   You haven't changed much in four months."

"A little over a month in real-time Skaa." He said, "this is merely a dream."

"How could you know that?"

"Cast your mind back to your last memory prior to arriving here." Said Aldor.

"I - I can't remember…" he became confused, surprised, and agitated."

"Who were you with prior to your arrival?"

"Th - The witch-woman had taken control of my men.   I was locked in a cellar…   No, I escaped from there, it's all misty…" said Skaa.   He began to sweat, my brain hurts, "I - don't.. can't remember."

"Think man, where did you escape to.   What city were you in?"

"I - We, can't remember, he shook his head.   Corvalen…" he said surprising himself.

"Amnesia," said Aldor, "did you get a bump on the head?"

"I remember a… long tunnel.   We followed a boy…   It was dark?.   Umm, a young woman was with us, Genna was her name…"

"How far away is Corvalen?" Aldor asked.

"It must be many hundreds of miles from here, it would take weeks to cover that distance," said Skaa.

"Then how did you get here?   Did you walk or ride, and where did you stay on that journey?   Or, did you simply take a leap into darkness and arrive here?"

"Yes," said Skaa with a strange look in his eyes.   "I would trust you to speak true but, if I am dreaming, you are part of my dream.   Therefore, I must already be aware that this is a sleeping state, he reasoned the fact.  That I am not aware is very worrying…"

"I have been sent in to awaken you, or the man I knew as Skaa-Bae is that you?"

"It is."

You have already slept for four days and survived, which is more than most would consider possible.   The longer you sleep the less likely you are to awaken naturally.   The dream will deteriorate into a nightmare and finally into a state of madness.   It doesn't look exactly welcoming now.   If either of us is killed or harmed in this dream it is very likely it would have adverse effects on our bodies in the real world.   What say you we simply awake and visit a few liquid shrines."

"I'm not sure how that can be accomplished."

"Close your eyes and recall what you were doing immediately before you arrived."

"It isn't working, and my pursuers are coming." There were now obvious sounds of a hunting party coming nearer.   "Do you have a weapon, mine was taken from me in Corvalen.   That's it! You are correct, this is a dream.   I would never travel so far without replacing my sword!   It’s so simple," said Skaa shaking his head in amusement.

"Hold out your hand." Said Aldor, and a sword materialized.   Aldor drew his own weapon.

"No need," said Skaa closing his eyes again.   He felt momentary disorientation then, on opening his eyes, found himself, in the Northern Reaches, alone. 

(To be Continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

 

Haiku From the heart

By Robert Kingston

daisy wheels...

children make racers

with split leaves

 

in the lorry’s wake
blossom
tracing shadows

beneath the blue lamp
I choose to dream
of summer

 

a week spent...
watching the orchid
unfold

Copyright Robert Kingston

First published by the Japan Society