Runestones 04

 Find a way

Carole Blackburn

The brightening world looked on with slitted eyes.  Helgason finished his feast of berries he had collected along his route. Perched on the rockpile, he frowned at the Rune circle. The carved stones somewhat worn, that encircled him. There were times, he would have been crouching down in his usual hiding place. Here he would have observed the Elders. Mattis, Sigrid, and Junis, the Statesmen as the youngsters named them, who had been elected by the community.

Often at home Helgason, would lay near the hearth, at the end of the day only to hear his father say, “The telling of the Runes,” is a secret meeting of great importance,” in an attempt to silence his son’s curiosity.

These attempts of his father, failed once and for all, after he first saw Astrid, at the annual community assembly, at the coming of the harvest moon. The gathering for the Norse god Frigg, who was a paragon of love, fertility, and fate. He decided then and there, he needed to find out more about his future with her.

When the days dissolved into nights, and the darkening stretched into the colder season. And the ‘telling of the Runes’ were due to commence. Helgason trekked along the craggy path and hid behind the thorny shrubbery on the very edge of the forest glade, but still in earshot of the three elderly Statesmen. These became regular outings for Helgason and were to become his education into manhood.

Helgason trusted the wisdom of the Runes. They protected his kind; the runes’ knowledge had guided life for centuries. His ancestors would never have disputed their decisions. Just as the mountain air filled his lungs, the Runes had imbued him with their secret powers, casting no shadows within him.

With winter creeping across the wilderness of his homeland of Noreg (Norway, to you and I) being the eldest son, Helgason’s, hunting skills were already honed. His father regarded him as a dependable male, bringing home his animal kills and foraged supplies, to sustain his family over the darkening season. It was time for his son’s future to commence.

Astrid’s gentle but stubborn streak flowed within her. Becoming a woman and battling with her older sisters, Erika and Ingrid’s growing demands, to find their individuality. Together with their father’s attention since their mother’s death, challenged them all.

 None more so than, Astrid.

Trouble had laid ahead for this family, the fourth baby had not been planned and the Runes had foreseen this. Mattis had warned the family, to be prepared. The outcome, left Astrid distraught knowing her mother’s arms would never cradle her, again.

It was usual for the sunrise to warm and melt the grey dark mood that hung in Astrid’s mind of what her future may become. However, today her greying mood clung to her like the fog that shrouded the morning ground. It had been her chore to forage for firewood for the cooking of the main meal. Her courage to cope made her adept in her life to carry on to the best of her ability. In whatever way, she appeared, to the outside world. However, she was brightened by a chance meeting with Helgason that day. He had spied her wandering, seemingly lost.

Now, they sat on the rockpile, huddled against the howling wind, after all of the three statesmen had left the Rune circle. They had heard them translate the Runes which foretold the young adults their future. It was settled. Sorted. They were to be wed.

 Astrid was not so sure and asked, “My situation will bring its own future, can we manage it alone, Helgason?” 

His thoughts swirled around eclipsing the truth.

It would be fine, ‘the telling of the runes’, have spoken. He thought.

He would find a way.

 Hiding from the truth, was a way Helgason tried to regulate difficulties in his life.

Glancing down at his hands, which had been scarred forever. That day’s event came flooding back. The scalding water had seeped into his skin when trying to help his mother in the kitchen. The disfigurement was often hidden by mittens even on the hottest of days. This everyday reminder of his now, damaged, previously carefree boyhood days. At times, this memory, caught him unaware, just like his feelings for Astrid.

The Norwegian way of life is to be prepared. Mother nature guides and watches the planet’s custodians. With the intent of nurturing one generation to the next. The runes carved into the circle of stones, arranged over time to remain, like a torch, forever.

Life’s route with its twists and turns had bought Helgason to a crossroads on this eve meet, with Astrid. In a familiar spot, they had chosen after the community assembly for the god Frigg, just a few months past. Now, not long to wait.

The day became night, with a patchwork of clouds in hues of grey, gathered. Astrid walked hand in hand with her sister, Erika, who guided her younger sister. Now, essential in the dimming light and the threatening rain,

Helgason’s figure silhouetted the skyline, in the last edge of daylight before the night took over. He turned on hearing footsteps, but only one pair he could hear now. Concern raised in his chest, forcing his focus on the sound of the footsteps. He could see Astrid was alone, her hands outstretched feeling the night air for danger.

Erika, had with reluctant feet returned home, for her job was now done. The birth of her youngest sister, the unseen baby in her mother’s womb. Hiding a challenge not foretold.

The runes belong to the gods and their reasoning of altered lives are kept from the planet’s custodians.

Astrid sensing Helgason, her eyes that had never focused, never seen. Hands that grasped the darkness as he took her hand into their new life.

The planet’s past is part of our changing world. It will continue to stride forward promoting its custodians, into finding a way.

 

 Copyright Carole Blackburn

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 Pink ticket

By Carole Blackburn

Grabbing the armrest and my father’s hand with my other clammy palm, the Boeing 747 bumped along the runway at Nassau International Airport. The gateway into the Bahamas. I tried to reassure myself that traveling again, would help, both of us.

“We have had, a wonderful life, haven’t we, Jacinda? And it will return, my love.” Dad was forever the calm in my storm.

Stepping back, into the wider world, had been an unexpected treat. At first, Dad had been reluctant, due to the limited travel time on the tickets and the unpredictable weather of our destination.

“The Bahamas are tropical, after all, Dad.”

 I knew this lucky treat, we deserved.    

Gathering our belongings from the overhead locker, we followed the procession of tourists to the Arrivals terminal. It opened into a vast honeycomb canopy that surrounded me with unfamiliar sights and sounds. However, I found myself with my familiar accomplice which permeated ripples of rapid firing into my chest that knew, no ceasefire. A familiar sensation, that tested my control once again.

Jacinda, breathe, breathe, I thought.

In the airport terminal, we absorbed the atmosphere. Whilst strolling, we located the exit and flowed with our fellow travelers towards the gliding, sliding doors. The warmth bellowed in, as I spied the line of taxis. We rippled out into the late haze. The anticipation flowed from the face of our cabbie-to-be. He beckoned us to his cab, which took us into the bustle of New Provence island.

The 4-star hotel with its sleek walls lined with doors, which would open into awaiting rooms of untold promises for those seeking paradise. Following the directions given, Dad and I trundled until our door number 103, smiled back at us. On entering, my eyes conducted a tour around, only then did they judder, as the sea view which came into focus through the French doors. My vision hypnotized, paralyzing me for a moment in a welcomed stance of relief. We had made it, safely.

Within the hour, my suitcase emptied, and with the lighter feel of cotton floating over my body and my feet freed, which were able to breathe again. I could then shake Dad from his catnap. Waiting as he stirred, I peered through the Sun-drenched gossamer window drapes as they fluttered, as paradise awaited.

Stepping outside, I blinked at the jeweled azure waves that danced in the distance. Daring me to take its invite. I accepted. Dad stretching out lounging with pride, again watching his only daughter, now happy once more.

 

1

That evening, bought a relief of a cooling breeze to my sun-kissed shoulders. Glancing at Dad, the atmosphere wound its self around me like a seductive pashmina. The hapless band with their West Indies tone percolated, only added to my intoxicating feel of how lucky, Dad and I were to be here. Whilst I reminisced, our recent stroke of luck.

Ted’s stubby, pincher, digits had picked out the last raffle ticket for the evening and with his tannoy-like voice.

“Pink ticket number 3-6-7, pink ticket 367,” while scanning around the seated audience. My eyes popped and nudged Dad to look down at the winning first prize ticket in my hand.

 

Only four months later, with that prize unfolding now, the ripples of the sea tickled the shoreline. I languished, as it instilled me into a troubled slumber.

 On that late afternoon, Mum had grabbed her car keys, happy just to run an errand for me.

“No worries love, I have time to pop into town, before my Bingo. It won’t take long” 

How true.

Her kindness, until her end, cradles me, still.

The only certainty in all our lives is that it will end one day. The ‘’how and when’ hangs, like the sword of Damocles. It accompanies us, always.

Now my morning, sprung into life as the beachwear clad bodies began to litter the loungers. We ventured out. The sand shifted beneath my naked feet, whilst my glittery flip flops entwined in my fingers like jewels. Dad in his comfy prone position having the full attention of one of the waiters lasted, but a few hours. The sweltering midday sun in Paradise summoned him to a retreat, into the coolness of our cocooned accommodation and for a wishful, refreshing nap, behind our French doors.

“You don’t mind, Jacinda, do you? love.”

“No worries, Dad I will soak up the Sun, a little longer,”

Drifting in and out of my thoughts. Alone again …I must do this. I turned and watched him shuffle back inside.

The afternoon heat faded into balminess with the sea blending with the cloudless sky, veiled me with its tranquillity. I needed to turn over like a spit roast, in doing that, I noticed the beach fringed parasols were swaying like dancers in time to the wind. I reached for my beach top as the sand began to cloak me like a shroud.

The ease of the afternoon quickened its pace, as others around me scooped up their belongings. Hastened by the agitated, angered waves. Seemingly, reacting to the loss of its Paradise and all it had known. It roared and spat its emotions, this despairing response, prevailed. It had no control of this situation.

2

The Palm trees and the clumps of surrounding grasses twisted and turned in support to the reactive turmoil of the waves. Every step I endeavoured towards my shelter; Nature’s tidal tyrant smacked me with its forceful attitude. Our French doors slammed behind me, I was safe, again.

 I continued to witness others deserting this haven, who scuttled to safety. My focus fixed on an older couple hand in hand, but torn apart and then discarded like empty seashells that had once bedecked Landgrove cove, such unnecessary cruelty.

Frenzied panic mounted, as it surged my mind to find a release. My eyes widened to this apocalyptic vision; the heaviness of a parked trunk doing a ‘roly-poly ‘like the ease of a floating feather twirling in a warm breeze. The cacophony that orchestrated with the lashing, whipped destruction of this paradise, rendered me helpless. I freeze-framed in the pandemonium of hurricane Cecilia.

A moment of stillness, human voices cut in. Their panic vocalised with screeching at this catastrophe, to halt. Desiring to be awoken, to resume with their normality in Paradise. Now in my trance-like minds’ eye, I tried to focus on the calm of the previous day.

However, it engaged me back to my pink ticket, that had bought me here, which laid crumpled in the bottom of my flight bag.

The Pink ticket bought clarity to my mind, “Storms if you allow them Jacinda, they will always rage within you.”

Earlier, Dad had stirred into the world and had shuffled to the opened doors. Only noticing the calm before the impending storm, he closed them. Now being shaken into the world of violence that threw him against those same doors, splintering his head.

My world shrunk.

Outside, the palms bent and gyrated to the aggression and screams of Cecilia beating without care on those who succumbed to her terror.

Cecilia’s purpose was to make her presence felt. Her destructive journey had collided with mine. Both unexpected to this paradise. I mourned, as the world beyond continued to cartwheel out of control.

 The only certainty in life drew me closer. Paradise rescinded.

 

Copyright Carole Blackburn

 

 

 

 

 

Cheilin Saga ~ 16

Cheilin Saga ~ 16  The Meeting (Mawld & Hortense)

By Len Morgan

Mistress Hortense was chosen to answer the priest Roffal’s call.   She was the one, who had to endure the long and arduous journey through craggy mountain passes in weather ranging through blistering sun and blizzards of hard ice rain.  Constantly chilling winds chaffed her flesh to the bone.   As they came within first sight of the Northern slopes of Dalacia, what she really desired above all things was a hot bath; something she knew to be a forlorn hope in such an advanced theatre of war.   The very last thing she required was to be accosted by the meddlesome priest who started this whole thing in the first place.   But, there he was, waiting to greet her like a painful suppurating wound, throbbing persistently, on and on and on…

“You have to take action mistress!   He’s even requisitioned buildings at a local farm, for his main headquarters, and further he’s paying for their use.   All our hard-won spoils are being squandered on luxury and pandering to the local Dalacian slime.   You must come immediately to the main barn and witness his latest folly,” Roffal prattled on...

“She maintained her silence and forced a mind-gag on his tongue, which left him frothing at the mouth and wrestling with his throat as though he were attempting to strangle himself.   She smiled, with small satisfaction, she knew it was unfortunately only a temporary respite.  Roffal would soon recover.

 A lieutenant stepped forward as her party approached the barn indicated by Roffal; who was now on his knees some twenty yards behind them with more immediate matters on his mind.  

Amazing how a glimpse of your own mortality can show you what is truly important in life, she thought with the secretive smile still playing momentarily on her lips.

“Mistress!” The man fell to his knees, head bowed, before her.

“My slave,” she said ritually.

“Unto death mistress” he replied immediately.  She did not openly admit recognising him but knew he had been her property, some eighteen months earlier, when she had agonised whether he should live or die.   Finally, she had left it to chance and sent him to the arena of blood at the conjunction.

“Get up now and lead me to Mawld” she commanded.

As they approached the entrance she could see a large man, head and shoulders above those surrounding him, silhouetted against the light coming from somewhere within the barn.

She skimmed his mind and knew at once he was not her man.

“I seek General Mawld” she said.

“Yes, mistress this way,” he led her further into the building, to one of the horse stalls.   Mawld was seated on a packing case, at a makeshift bench consisting of two other cases with planks spread lengthways between them.   The bench bowed slightly from constant use, it was completely covered by a patchwork map made from dozens of sheets of paper, scraps of various types’ grades and sizes, overlapping at various angles.   He stood up as she entered and turned to greet her. 

“You can set the scale for a map and ensure that cartographers stick to it but you cannot dictate its content,” he smiled.   “Mistress Hortense,” he bowed to her, “we have been eagerly anticipating the pleasure of your company these several days past.    No doubt you have been sightseeing.  It is a beautiful country is it not?   This way,” he said, leading her several stalls down, and nearer to the centre of the building.

She could see smoke, no steam, drifting from within, raising her hopes, and sure enough in the centre of the enclosed space stood a coopered wooden bath filled with hot water, foaming perfumed suds that immediately calmed her mind.

“It has been a hard day,” he said, "we can talk whilst I bathe.”

Her surprised and hurt look was a picture as he removed his topcoat.   He looked her full in the face and smiled, “you think me oafish and crass?   This young woman is Faun; she is the daughter of our host.  She suggested that this might be the best gesture to welcome such an important visitor.   She has volunteered to tend to your needs whilst you are here.   We shall talk further when you are rested and refreshed.  I still have work to do so I will leave you both to become better acquainted.   Enjoy the bath” was his parting quip.

She entered a warm carpeted bathing area, the walls completely covered with woven tapestries, a crystal globe stood on a stand facing her at the far end of the stall, there were towels on racks in front of a hearth containing glowing embers. Fawn helped her disrobe and enter the bath, then with soap oil and flannel she washed her efficiently smoothing away the aches and knotted muscles inflicted by her journey.  Relaxed and refreshed with sweet wine she donned the proffered robe and sandals.  Hortense smiled and scanned the young woman critically, her own handmaidens knew she could take care of herself, they would await her summons at the entrance, where they were no doubt entrancing Mawld’s staff officers.   He is astute and not averse to humour, she thought.

The girl was young, intelligent and in love with Mawld, though she doubted he would be aware of that.

“Would you like me to help you gain your heart's desire?” she asked, breaking the silence between them.

The girl looked shocked and coloured up, “Mistress Hortense, why would you want to concern yourself with such as me?”

She recovers well thought Hortense, “he is a handsome man and would be quite a catch, and it is within my power to arrange things?   All I want in return is for you to open your mind to me so I can judge his actions through your eyes.”

“I—I don’t think…” she began.

“Young women of your age rarely do think, or are incapable of thinking; it takes time to acquire that ability.”

“But you are not much older…”

“Look closer at me,” Hortense commanded.   “Look at my eyes!”

“I don’t want…” Faun began.

Suddenly she was gazing at herself, through Faun’s eyes, and realised she really did look incredibly young despite having lived several full and eventful lives.   But, a hundred & thirty years was only half the time she expected to live inside her current body, and the god willing, there would be many more to follow.   She tuned her mind in on the girl, but found nothing; her mind was in an empty vessel, she was caught in a mind trap.   The girl was a trap!  With that realisation came fear.   She struggled and fought to free herself, but in vain.   Fear changed to prickly icicles of terror as she watched her own body turn to leave the stall, then everything went black, she was alone and lacking all sensory input.

Fawn picked up the crystal globe and followed behind as if at the command of the mistress; the body of Hortense now inhabited by another.

“Wait here and eat, this girl will see to your requirements,”  she said to her handmaidens. Taking the globe from Faun, she said, “I will call if I require your assistance, but I may be some time.”   She strode purposefully away from the barn and her attendants; Never to be seen again.

The farmer and his daughter Faun disappeared the following day, together with two of the handmaidens.   Roffal was furious, accusing Mawld of engineering a kidnapping.   Hortens’s remaining assistants carried out a hurried investigation but came to no conclusions either way. Furthermore, Bedelacq was unable to commune with her so summarily pronounced her dead.   Several senior Brides were sent from Blutt central to investigate, and Mawld was recalled to account.   They held a brief trial, accusing him of treason, but the findings were inconclusive.   He was stripped of his rank even though there was no proof of his involvement.  At his own request, he was returned to the front as a humble private soldier.   On his return to the front General Hagg was in command.  From then on the war went badly for Bluttland.

(to be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

A short haibun of the moment.

A short haibun of the moment.

Stump rings 

By Robert Kingston

As a child, I'd often hear the term plank or planks. Dad being a good all rounder in the building trades would often speak of them.
As I grew older I became aware that the words were sometimes used in a less than complementary term of speech between people. Sometimes humorous, sometimes more serious; generally directed towards apprentices or those a little slow on the uptake: 

test and trace

they say they can govern

the pings

 

 

Copyright Robert Kingston

Do you Remember

 Do you Remember (Aka There's the Joke)

By Rosemary Clarke

Agencies send you out to clear
Backlogs that pile up year by year
Thrown in at the deep end
Offices now on you depend
You have few moments to take over
Or become someone else's cover.
You have your job, enjoy your day
Go out with friends, life is OK.
You live your life don't make a fuss
And then you're hit by the evening bus.
Into hospital, you quickly go
While time stops still, your life's on slow.
You sleep most of the day and night
Black eyes, cut knees a nasty sight.
But worse of all, and such a pain
It's totally messed up your brain!
Memory has more or less gone
You've little past to look back on.
Remember things through other folk
Your life is now beyond a joke.
Mum gets you up for dinner and tea
'Cause you'd forget to eat you see
And even now when she has gone
The damage still it lingers on.
No left no right no places names
For to your brain, they're all the same
It takes you years to find your way
Forget the time, the date or day
Amass says to find a place
One that stands out, to make your base
But it is hard to label all
It nearly drives you up the wall!
The pain it never goes away
In your head, it's there to stay.
If you don't have all food in sight
You forget it and have a fright
A moldy mess it becomes soon,
So then you tidy up the room.
And while all of this troubles brewing
You have forgotten what you're doing!
And this is part of everyday
As you can see, it's not OK.
But while I have friends like Nat and Jane
I know my life won't be the same
Need so much help to get along
But they're helping me to be strong.

Copyright Rosemary Clarke

                                    

DO YOU REMEMBER

by Richard Banks         

                                                                                                             I was still in that drowsy state of waking when I realised there was a visitor. I wondered who it would be: my wife, mother, brother, George, whoever George was. All had come and spoken of others who intended coming. My family was evidently a large one. There were also friends. Their get well cards numbered thirty.

         I hoped, when I opened my eyes, it would not be my wife. One should feel a special attachment to a wife; I must admit I felt none. The woman was not unattractive, although possibly a little older than myself. We were, she said, twenty years married. Our son was called Michael, he had just started work for a firm of stockbrokers. The three of us lived in Benfleet. I was Chief Clerk of a bank in the City. The rest, she considered, was best left until I was feeling better. Her voice had a monotonous drone I found irritating. I compared her unfavourably to the unpaid volunteer, who, since the previous day, had been helping out on the Ward. I looked forward to meeting her but so far had only seen her pass by the sometimes open door of my single room.

         My visitor coughed. It was a man's cough. I decided to see who it was. An elderly man looked back at me. The lines on his face rearranged themselves into what might have been a smile. I smiled too, as well as the bandages on my face would allow.

         “I don't suppose you remember me?” he said with the sad resignation of someone whose fate was to be anonymous. 

         I shook my head.

         “Didn't think you would, I'm your father. Expect you were hoping for someone more distinguished. Just as well you take after your mother's side of the family.”

         I recalled my first visitor of the day: a large woman in her fifties with bleached hair who insisted I call her Ma.

         “What do I call you?” I asked.

         “Oh, Dad will do.”

         “Not Pa?”

         “No Pa is your mother's husband.”

         “But I thought you were married to my mother.”

         His hangdog expression was suddenly animated by a facial twitch that caused his right cheek to vibrate. I was about to summon a nurse when the vibrations subsided and he continued speaking.

         “That's what I thought. Also thought I owned a three-bed semi in Southend, but it's all gone now. Your mother's solicitor saw to that.”

         “So you and Ma are divorced then?”

         He nodded.

         “And where do you live now?”

         “In a bedsit on the Kursaal Estate. It's not too bad. Small but cosy. Just room for Joey and the TV.”

         “Joey?” I asked.

         “Yes, Joey the budgie. He's not much of a talker but he's better company than your mother.”

         I decided to steer the conversation in the direction of myself. “So Dad, I expect you’ll be wanting to say something that will jog my memory.”

         He managed to look thoughtful and bewildered at the same time.

         “I mean, what can you tell me about my life, the things I've done that were important to me.”

         “You mean like driving off that cliff?”

         I took a deep breath. “Yes, that will do.”

         “Well, it certainly got you into the 'papers. Also got you in here. It's a wonder you're not in the cemetery. As if going over that cliff wasn't enough you had to land on the Fenchurch Street line and get hit by a train. Wreckage all over the place. No more trains until Monday.  You aren't very popular with the commuters I can tell you. That's about it really. Have you remembered anything?”

         I shook my head.

         “No, didn't think you had. When you do you'll have a lot of explaining to do.”

         “You mean about the accident; how it happened like?

         He looked ill at ease as though he had said too much. “Yes, that as well.”

         “As well as what?” I asked.

         He responded with what I hoped was a non-sequitur. “Has that police chappy been in to see you yet?”

         “No,” I said.

         “Probably best to leave it to him.”

         “Leave what? Look, Dad, if there's something I ought to know don't you think you should be telling me first before the police do?”

         His face began twitching again. “Not sure I'm allowed to. Wouldn't want to be breaking the law.”

         “Dad, this is just between you and me. No one's listening. No one will ever know this conversation took place. Now, what is it the police want to talk to me about?”

         The nervous twitch went into overdrive. When he spoke it was as though someone was exerting a strong grip on his throat. “The money,” he spluttered.

         “What money?”

         “The money you took from the bank to pay your gambling debts. Fifty thousand so the papers say. At least that's how much they found in your car, what was left of it. Then there's that drugs gang that chased you off the cliff. I expect the police will be wanting to know where they fit in. No doubt it will all be clearer once you remember. Won't make no difference to the house though.”

         “What house is that?”

         “The one you failed to keep up the payments on. Being sold at auction next week. Alice wasn't too pleased I can tell you.”

         “Alice who?” I asked.

         “Alice your wife. She came to see you yesterday. Don't you remember?”

         I said that I did remember but that the woman in question had introduced herself as Ali.”

         “Yes, that be her. A tall woman with freckles. I take it she didn't say anything about the....”

         “About the what?”

         “About the... Probably best if she tells you.”

         “But she's not here, Dad. So if there's any more bad news you might as well give it to me now. She wants out, is that it?”

         “She is out. Moved out when the bank sent in the bailiffs.”

         “I mean she wants out of our marriage.”

         “Oh yes, that too. Says she's going to take you to the cleaners for everything you got. Don't suppose that will be much. At least your boy has a bob or two now he's started work; not that you'll be seeing much of him once you're in prison.”

         “Is there anything else I should know?”

         “Well Southend lost five-nil to Scunthorpe last night.”

         “And I'm a Southend supporter?”

         He nodded.

         “Not many reasons to be cheerful then?”

         He considered the question carefully and sighed. There was an awkward silence. He looked at his watch and announced his intention to leave before it got dark. I watched him shuffle off with a bag of foodstuffs he had purchased from the Pound shop and saw myself thirty years on.

         I was eyeing the window with a view to throwing myself through it when the pretty little voluntary worker I mentioned earlier appeared in the doorway. She was pushing a wheelchair on which sat the slumped figure of an unconscious policeman.

         “What's wrong with him?” I asked.

         “Sleeping pills in tea,” she replied matter of factly. “Now get out of bed and help me take off his uniform.”

         “Why?” I sensed I was in enough trouble as it was.

         “Because if you don't, we can't escape and you'll be found guilty of goodness knows what and sent to prison. Now get a move on before someone finds out he's not on guard in the corridor.  Oh and by the way I'm Glennis. You may not remember me but I'm your girlfriend. Now, this is what's going to happen. You put on his uniform and we leave via the fire escape. Car to Burnham, yacht to Amsterdam, collect new passports, and off to Brazil. Any questions? On second thoughts questions later. But if you're having money thoughts the fifty K in the back of your car was just the small change. The rest is on the yacht. Oh don't look so worried; we're going to Rio: Sugar Loaf Mountain, Copacabana beach. That's got to be better than prison. Now let's have a big smile for your little Glennis. That's better.”

           My observations on better were delivered through clenched teeth. 

           “What's that you say? You weren't smiling, it was a grimace. Well of course you're hurting all over, but it's got to be done honeybunch. Big effort now. Button up that tunic, helmet on your head and you're all ready to escort me to the car park. Isn't this exciting!”

         Before I could answer she flung her arms around my neck and kissed me on the lips. That's when it all came back to me when I remembered how good life could be.

         “Are you ready?” she asked.

         You bet I was.

 

Copyright Richard Banks

                                                                                                       

 Apple Blossom Time

By Rosemary Clarke

     The phrase 'apple blossom time' denotes a time of great joy, the ending of troubles and worry, or a time when we had none; WELL WE HAVE NOW IN THE WORLD, WITH FIRE TORNADOES THIS IS SURELY THE WORST, OR IS IT?  But nature can be kind if we are kind back.

     We humans on the whole are lazy, that's why it takes a catastrophe to get us off our backsides and pushing.  Governments can't shift us, even common sense doesn't get through half the time, so how did we get like this?  We all began life filled with hopes and dreams and how we were going to make a difference then, with marriages, mortgages, children, and bills we are blunted: here's one solution.

     If you accept a job you don't like, stay until you get the grades or the mentoring or the thing of your dreams comes along, and then FIGHT!  Yes, fight for your dreams, all of us must regardless of everything because one thing that Covid has given us that is good is a chance to CHANGE!  So follow your dream whatever age, colour or sex you are; if you can't read or write, etc...LEARN - there's plenty of places and with the internet, the world is our oyster!

     What we must all be is the best human beings we can possibly be both to ourselves, others, the planet, and EVERYTHING on it; even the smallest thing like complimenting someone on a bus, train, or at work can make such a difference.  And giving a small sum to a charity of your choice can help those elsewhere; it would only mean a few pounds of your pay packet but mean so much elsewhere and who knows, if we ALL realise our dreams the world could be a better place and we would all have our 'apple blossom time'.

Copyright Rosemary Clarke