THE LAST OF THE OLD GUARD.

By Rosemary Clarke

Let's hear it for the Scotsman who delighted all our screens
The one who was so naughty with his plotting and his schemes.
His bicycle is silent now, but then it was so used.
I'll bet he's up there watching plotting yet another ruse!
He's with Marina now, just like he thought he should, but Pearl is up there also so it won't do any good!
I'll bet the angels love it, up there must be feeling fine.
They've only bagged all of the cast of Last of The Summer Wine!

To Robert Fyfe, his family friends and all who made this wonderful series possible; thanks for the laughs!

Copyright Rosemary Clarke

 New Term Nerves 

By Sis Unsworth 

With summer almost over, the new term’s drawing near

the thought of it did fill, poor Rupert with some fear.

Being new to the district, as they’d just moved there in June,

and the time had passed so quickly, September came too soon.

He was feeling rather nervous, the new kid on the block

leaving all that was familiar, had given him a shock.

But, he’d had the opportunity, to go and view the school.

He'd felt apprehensive, but played it rather cool.

His future did depend upon, how he performed this year,

he wondered how he’d deal with it, now the time was near.

His white shirt washed and ironed, now hung behind the door,

highly polished shiny shoes, were placed upon the floor.

He was well-groomed with confidence, he headed out that day,

he notice many students, were also going his way.

Then as he reached the school gates, his heart was beating faster.

But he knew he had to go inside, as he was the new headmaster.

 

Copyright Sis Unsworth

 

 FREE CHOICE    (Part 1 of 2)

by Richard Banks

“To choose is to be free,” says Theo. After three Seattle Shakers, he is becoming philosophical, after four he will have great thoughts and after six there will be no remembering them. His headache the next day will be a reminder that no choice is free of unchosen consequences. But for now, everything is good, the drinks are free, his round yet to come, and he senses that his witty, insightful conversation is attracting the attention of Ella. She is, without doubt, the most attractive of the three girls in their group.

         No one, he thinks, has been gifted more free choice than her. Free in that she has never been known to buy a drink either for herself or anyone else but still the choice of every man seeking the enchantment of female company; that Theo is such a man is a secret he is trying to keep to himself. It is an impossible dream. She has an army of devoted followers from which to choose and when she does it is invariably a six foot plus Adonis, the star player or captain of one of the college teams. Clearly, Theo’s membership of the debating team is not enough, especially as they have lost their last three contests. At five foot six, he is scarcely taller than the lectern.

         Luke and Harry also suffer from the disadvantage of being ordinary, although somewhat taller. Accepting his fate Luke has taken up with Cynthia who he rates a six but with her make-up on will sometimes pass as a seven. They sit together, gradually merging into each other as one drink follows another. After four they are sometimes known to kiss.

         The sixth and final person at table 32 in the Stardust Club is Lorna, a friend of Cynthia who has been brought along in the hope that she might prove to be a suitable companion for Theo and distract him from drooling over Ella. So far they have spoken only once to exchange names, their mutual indifference only less obvious than Lorna’s scarcely concealed interest in Cynthia.

         “That’s crap,” says Harry. Harry is not a member of the debating team and tends to express himself in the on-field vernacular of the Sunday league football team for which he plays stopper, centre half. No fancy dan passing out of defence for him, he is old school and when he isn’t booting the ball fifty yards down the pitch he is usually questioning the parentage of the opposing team’s centre forward. For him, words are a blunt instrument, a cudgel not a rapier, and their purpose is to end debate not prolong it. The world is how it is, how he knows it to be, not how Theo thinks it should be.

         His membership of their Group is an alcohol shrouded mystery that no one remembers in quite the same way. Table 32 used to be his table, that’s where he sat, keeping it to himself and repelling all unwanted borders until this really fit bird asked him if anyone was sitting there. “No, be my guest,” he said. Then it turned out she had four friends who plonked themselves down before he could tell them to bugger off. Nevertheless, the fit bird sat next to him rather closer, he thought, than she needed. If she was pleased to meet him she was even more pleased when he brought her the most expensive cocktail on offer. He had read about girls like her, posh birds slumming it in bog-standard clubs, desperate for a bit of rough like him.

         On learning that her name was Ella and that she was a first-year student at the Uni, he had volunteered the information that he was a professional footballer with United. This never failed to impress the girls and was a fiction he was usually able to sustain until the following morning. In case this was not enough he raised the stakes by announcing he was also in England’s Under 23s. This she did not appear to understand but, having supplied the necessary clarification, he was able to achieve first base by placing his hand on her surprisingly cool knee. By the time his imagination had conjured up David Beckham and Victoria he was up to second base and contemplating his next move when she took hold of his little finger and hauled it and the rest of his hand onto the tabletop. In case he had not got the message she smoothed down the mini she was wearing so that it now covered most of second base. Other girls would have made a fuss, slapped his face, but she said nothing, her switched-on smile undisturbed, only a flinty look in her eyes signalling that what he wanted was not going to happen.

         To be repulsed with such style and subtlety seemed almost a distinction, and although he later felt anger it was never at her. Next day he took it out on the other team’s centre forward. Having rendered him unconscious with a head butt and threatened the referee he was sent off the pitch and fined £50 by the Association. To this dent in his wallet, he added the cost of the overpriced drink he had brought her, reflecting that some choices were anything but free, even for those that didn’t get past second base.

         A month later these are memories he has largely succeeded in pushing to the back of his mind. With Ella, it is as if nothing ever happened. There is no awkwardness between them. They have established a boundary and that is that nothing is said, nothing is needed to be said. It would be fine, water under the bridge if only Theo would stop going on about choice making people free. OK, it’s different to his own thoughts, he gets that, but nonetheless, it’s stirring up stuff he would rather forget. It’s crap, total crap, and he has stunned Theo into silence by telling him so, but not for long. Any moment now he will be drawn into a debate in which he will be expected to articulate a point of view that he can’t define beyond knowing that he is right and Theo a pretentious twat for thinking different. This is an argument that must be ended before it begins.

         “It’s crap man, it stands to reason and if you can’t see that I’m not going to waste my time putting you right. Now, it’s your round you tight bastard, so choose yourself a drink, and while you’re about it get me a pint.”

         There is an edge to his voice not usually present in his rough banter and Theo isn’t slow to pick up on it. “What is everyone having?” he asks, and on being told, makes his way to the bar with Luke. By the time they are back the conversation has moved on to Game of Thrones and Harry is back to being their streetwise older brother who is a good laugh and keeps them out of trouble.

         On a Saturday night, there will be at least one minor skirmish at Stardust and if the bouncers are quick in ejecting those responsible that might be the end of it. For now, they have only to man the doors while Steve, their boss, monitors the many screens in the control room. Presently the focus of his attention is table 32. No threat there, just a group of students who have formed an unlikely alliance with Harry Deeks. Harry is a good lad, knows the score, settles his disagreements in the alley outback. No harm in that unless you’re on the receiving end of Harry’s fists. Tonight there is a new face at their table, a girl he hasn’t seen before or has he? It’s her first time in Stardust, of that he is sure, but the frown that surfaces briefly on her unremarkable face seems familiar.  Just the frown, nothing more, but where. A flashing light over monitor eight diverts his attention to the Zodiac Bar where an argument is threatening to get out of hand. He dispatches two of his team to sort it out and watches them escort the culprit off the premises. The girl he does not remember until it is too late.

[To be continued.]

        

Copyright Richard Banks

Cheilin Saga ~ 20

 Cheilin Saga ~ 20 The Search

By Len Morgan

“This is where you lost them?”   Aldor asked gazing across the street from a second floor window.  Kalle nodded slowly.   “Do not feel you are in any way to blame, you could not know they were so well organised.   You have not been off duty in twenty hours” he observed “you should be resting; we may have need of your talents in the near future.   You did well to discover their back door; I doubt they even suspect it has been compromised.   Does it open from both sides I wonder?”

“The mechanism was unfamiliar but I suspect it does,” said Kalle.

They were in clear view of the alley on ‘Circle15’, in a safe house they had entered via ‘C14’.

“It is a good lead Kalle, the only one we have at this time, with luck it will provide us with the edge we need to preserve his life.”

Kalle knew that even now, at this late hour, all their agents would be looking out for Bordek and Hestor, and any of their known associates.   Once spotted, the news would spread like a heath fire on the wind.   All that could be done tonight had been done, so Kalle took Aldor’s advice and went home.

.-…-.

“You’re sure Hestor didn't return to the palace?” Sloan asked.

Aldor shook his head, “but as soon as ever he surfaces, I will know.   In the meantime all my people can do is search the rooftops and the gutters and keep their eyes and ears open hopefully a clue will come to light, sooner rather than later.”

Sloan nodded, “their descriptions have been circulated, I’m kinda taken with Dan, I’d hate anything to happen to him.   I like this job too but, how long would it last if he were gone I wonder?”

“Then ensure he stays right where he is.”

“Ah!   There you have it.   My mistake has always been in overcomplicating matters; well thank you for putting me straight” Sloan shook his head.

Aldor shrugged and left the small watch post, striding into the night, ‘the man is completely mad’.

.-…-.

“Why so angry Mawld?   It was never Bedelacq’s policy for us to befriend and make peace with our enemies, you know that,” said Mawgwrr.    “He just wants their blood spilled, and we have a mandate to do that.”

“But, what of our own people who die needlessly in the process?   Good loyal subjects with potentially long and productive lives ahead of them.” He said.

“We the elite are charged with the responsibility of ensuring that our lord receives his quota of blood at the appropriate times.   He doesn’t mind who provides it…”

“So it comes down to that!   We exist to feed him with blood?”

Mawgwrr did not reply to his taunt.   “I’m sorry we cannot count on your willing co-operation, and that makes you a dangerous man,” she added.   “You have more than a passing resemblance to a man we must discredit so, help us you will,” she said, mentally summoning another Bride.   “Sister Efelel will accompany you to the Cheilin Empire to ensure that you carry out your mission to our satisfaction,” she said, leaving them alone together.  

“Drink this!”   Efelel commanded.

He raised his arm to dash the beaker from her hand, but their eyes made contact.   It was as if he had been transfixed.

“I am now going to make you mine,” she stated in a quiet voice.   She entered his head, savouring the look on his face, like a trapped animal, his eyes revealing the terror.

“Drink!” she repeated.

He watched as his hand took the beaker. He felt the pale yellow liquid pass through his gullet; against his will.

Within seconds, itching began inside his skull, as though ants were building a nest there, burrowing and expanding with impunity, becoming familiar with their new abode.   He shivered in horror, his free will departed, and he submitted to his fate.   His brain was numb.  He began moaning involuntarily and slavering like a rabid dog.   Scratching frantically at his face and skull, crying and making pitiful mewling animal noises.  Finally, he gave voice to a primordial scream then lost consciousness.

“There, there my pet,” she cooed, snuggling him to her breast, enfolding him in her arms even as she spoke she was plumping his mind, making it feel more comfortable prior to taking up residence.  He would be the host; her pet.  She soothed his pain and calmed him until he was close to sleep, “Kiss me,” she whispered, he obeyed.

That kiss betrayed him; he was hers, and nothing he could do about that.   He was first domesticated, then indoctrinated, and fed full of propaganda.   He may have seen through it in his past existence but now he believed everything he was told.   She was curled up safely in his mind, for the most part just observing, directing his thoughts and actions when necessary.   Efelel was quietly pleased with the degree of success and control she now exerted over him.

Mawgwrr chuckled, “you see, the more wilful they are the more obedient they become.”

It seemed that he was in full control, as before, but at a moment's notice, she could take command and lead him every which way.  They enjoyed sex, he was good, it bound him ever closer to her In thought and deed, she provided him with purpose direction and motivation.   Though satisfied with their bonding, Mawgwrr continued to oversee their development.   Mawld & Efelel were given an intensive training program designed to test both to their limits and forging their bond even closer.   They were bound for the Cheilin Empire, to spy for Blutt.   They were taught how to deceive, threaten, persuade, and inveigle themselves into the hearts of others.   They learned many clandestine techniques including how to use the minds of others as weapons against them.   Dreams, desires, prejudice, jealousy, and greed were just a few of the tools at their disposal.   Their instructions were simply to lay the groundwork for the assimilation of the Cheilin Empire.

.-…-.

 It was close to dusk when they entered the Eternal City, through the Southern gate.   They had the code names and locations of key contacts in the Blutt advance mission, established in Cheilin a century earlier, to insinuate themselves into society.   They ran a spy network that had spread throughout the city and outlying countryside.

At the junction of ‘Circle18 & East3’, they found ‘the Porters Ease’ an Inn of renown.

‘Here it is’ she spoke by mind link.   They entered the establishment and sat, as instructed, in a corner booth marked as reserved.  

“Ale for two,” Mawld called out to a passing waitress, as they sank into large upholstered easy chairs.  “Are there rooms for hire?” he asked when their drinks were served.

“Just one double at the top,” the girl replied.

“We’ll take it,” he said, “Is food available?”

The waitress left, returning with a menu from which they both selected venison stew.   They ate two helpings before retiring.   At thirty minutes past noon the following day they were picking over the remains of two roast chickens when the curtains to their booth were parted to reveal a young woman in her early teens.

She looked critically from Mawld to Efelel and back again.  

“If you are newly arrived in the Eternal City, I would stop and ask for news of home.” 

“It would depend on where you call home,” Mawld answered, glancing at Efelel.

 

‘She is O’Keffe, our contact.   She has never seen Bluttland, never even left this city, she was born here.’ 

“O’Keffe what kept you?” he asked.

O’Keffe answered his question with a thought, ‘She is one of his Brides,’ she gazed in awe at Efelel.

Efelel did not give an answer, it was not required, ‘will you be taking us to our contact now’  she sent that thought, while probing gently for information, but her probe was met by a firm block.

“Best not,” said O’Keffe.   ‘I know three contacts, outside my own cell; they each know two others besides myself.   If any of us are compromised we cannot be forced to give up more than those three.’

‘You will know of us.’

‘Yes, but you will wipe that, as soon as I deliver you safe to your destination,’ was her matter-of-fact reply.   “Now if you have finished your food we can go.”

“Lead on,” said Mawld.

They left the Tavern, with O’Keffe some thirty paces behind.   They went East then South then West and finally North, with frequent forays into Taverns where they tarried a while before leaving.   All the while O’Keffe remained outside watching for signs of pursuit, passing instructions to Efelel through the mind link until eventually, they arrived at their destination.

.-…-. 

Over the months Mawld began to familiarise himself with the man he was to become.   As a test, he began to frequent places know to have been visited by Aldor.   He tried to be innocuous and to go unnoticed but responded in a friendly manner to any who thought they recognised him.   Then, when Aldor was recalled to Sanctuary at the time of Sanko’s demise he roamed abroad becoming Aldor in reality.   Unbeknown to him, he even fooled some of the Tylywoch agents who should have known better.   Luck was on his side, and he began the process of blackening General Aldor’s name prior to his return to the City.   He had planned to shadow Aldor, in another guise, and improve his technique but, Aldor returned and departed for the cloistered Abbey of Samishaan before that could happen.   So, he continued to sow unrest amongst the normal populace by continuing to act in a brutish and arrogant manner.   He never actually gave his name but most people he contacted found him to be aggressive & abrasive, with more than an undertone of danger around him.   Then he forced his first duel and killed a man, out of hand, acting as though it were a joke.   Even regular acquaintances whom he had courted, to higher his standing, became uncertain and nervous in his presence.

That was when his accomplices began spreading rumours about his exploits.   Only occasionally did he actually do anything but it was invariably high profile and in poor taste.   Of course, the Emperor and his officers knew it could not be Aldor, but proving it was quite another thing.   All members of the Tylywoch were briefed to apprehend the impostor on sight but, somehow he was able to evade them and frustrate their efforts.   He remained at large and in the public eye flaunting all their attempts to get him.   Mawld knew one thing the Tylywoch and the Red Guard did not.   Prior to each appearance, the minds of all those present were scanned thoroughly and if there were any doubts, about those present, Mawld did not appear. 

(to be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

 

 

Personal Well-being ~ 13

A Sweet Tooth

By the Barefoot Medic

Have you ever noticed that young people show a marked affinity for sweet things?  "Mmm".

As we grow older our tastes do change and become more discriminating, or more likely we just get set in our ways.  Or, do our tastes simply change in line with our needs? 

“Each according to his/her needs?” 

Indulge me a moment…  Do you occasionally have urges/cravings for things you would not normally eat or drink?

It’s a well know fact, (so I’m told), that expectant mothers experience wild cravings in the middle of the night, for things that would normally seem revolting to them! 

When the body is undergoing radical changes, new building materials may be required; do you suppose the body has an awareness in addition to that of the brain, a mind of its own?  Could it be that unaccountable urges, cravings and dreams are the outward manifestations of the body attempt to communicate its needs to the conscious mind?

“Hormones are defined as chemical messengers.” 

At ‘THAT’ time of the month, a woman may get ‘Cranky’!  It’s her hormones you may say - excusing her tantrums, mental/physical attacks on your person.  This is of course the upper extreme.  No two people are built the same though, I've known quite a few cranky men; take me for instance.

Is it possible that hormones have even more subtle effects on us than currently supposed?

Radical life changes may bring on similar effects.

For example a couch potato of 10 years standing, suddenly taking up physical exercise, could possibly bring on a craving for sweet things…

Conversely, if you suddenly start craving ‘Pilchards in tomato sauce’ & pickled onions/eggs, should you be seeking changes in your life?  Are you pregnant?

Family break-ups, retirement, bereavement, stress, a lottery win.

Would a change in diet help you deal with those?

How could we test such a theory?

Maybe seek out people undergoing unexpected life changes.

Get them to identify any activity changes resulting (if any).

Analyse the chemical content of the dietary changes resulting…

Could a pill be created to provide the missing components?  Then when other people are undergoing similar life changes we could administer that pill…  No this is getting silly… Or, is it?

Comments will be Welcome:

Sunset

 

The Rayleigh Scattering

By Carole Blackburn

Sitting in her fragrant garden with its decorative and concise edges, with Henri her devoted husband, they had continued to enjoy this pleasure in life, until one summer ago. Maggie had promised him she would watch the sunset with a glass of something and enjoy their garden, forever. The warm air caressed her aging bones and her thoughts drifting into a different world and time.

The wooden tatty desk in John Strutt’s study was covered with his paperwork: A clutter of his many thoughts on a fascinating theory. Outside in silence, the sun was setting, a huge canopy of fading warmth, in the evening sky.

His supper arrived, as regular as clockwork, carried in by Mrs Matterson. This last of her evening duties for Lord John, 3^rd Baron of Rayleigh. There was no conversation at this hour, apart from,

“Thank you, Matterson.”

Her curtsey and a gentle nod were her reply.

On leaving his study, her words were always the same,” Will that be all, my Lord?”

“Yes, Mrs Matterson, it will be.”

John sighed as he reclined back in the leatherbound chair, another day had gone. The gas lamp would soon be needed. He was driven to continue with his thoughts, after his supper of rye bread, cheese, and a glass of the deepest red wine.

The inner glow from his wine soothed his thoughts that had been screeching for his attention. His need for calming solitude came as he raised his eyes to the spectacular sight of the Sun melting behind the rooftops, above Maldon. The river Blackwater ebbed and flowed nearby in obeyance to the pull of the Moon. Forever, this relationship with our planet has shaped our world, our lives, as does the Sun. 

His gas lamp flickered with shapes that pranced around him. Illuminating his world, as the outside darkens. His supper concluded with crumbs that littered on top of his papers; he had nibbed in italics. Diagrams altered with an urgency to follow his train of thought. The glowing sight in the sky had become his main thought together with the reason for its occurrence, over the past few years.

Why can we witness the splendour of a sunset?

How does this seemingly natural display occur?

What makes sunsets possible?

Always, the sunset colours vary, reflecting through the clouds as the sinking sun ignites the horizon. He never tired of these safe visual pyrotechnics in his daily life. He was told the colours could vary from shades of blue and green. A learned colleague, Edward Routh had sent word of his ideas that very week from his own experiences from the University laboratory.

Edward days and nights flowed and melded into one. His slumber would often be broken as the night warden gently shook him as the next day dawned. No beginning, no ending for him.

John and Edward would pool their ideas as their individual gas lamps flickered while outside a globe of fire, with its intense heat lowered in the sky. Lord Rayleigh’s thoughts hinted at a possible transferring of its heat with the presence of substances in the atmosphere. A potion maybe, that was a presence in the sky. A catalyst of some sort. His thoughts were missing a vital thread, John pondered.

These two men with their insatiable curiosities of the techno-coloured skies fuelled their notes, debates, and presentation papers to the numerous faculties around Europe.

The night curtain fell on this spectacular sky show, once again. Now, the night stars were waking up. Their mother, the crescent moon glowed. The atmosphere was translucent between him and the free light display in the sky. For many these dusk displays were taken for granted. Unlike Lord John, the fascination of the skies kept him awake most nights.

John picked up his calculations with his current thinking. His scribbled ideas all over them as he read aloud,” A sunset has three stages; Civil, Nautical and Astronomical twilights and the last one I have calculated as being 12-18 degrees below the horizon. He continued as he turned the page, “Dusk occurs at the very edge of this stage. The night is defined when the sun reaches 18 degrees below the horizon and with the Sun no longer illuminating the skyline”. He concluded.

Rubbing his chin, he recalled not every evening sky was a picture to behold. Something was making a difference.

The night carried on as his thoughts drew the threads of his theory together. John sent word to Edward; he would have stirred by now.

A gentle tap on the study door behind him signaled that Mrs Matterson needed to carry in his breakfast tray. It had been Evelyn, his wife’s decision for this unusual eating arrangement. The time when they had shared mealtimes together had become a distant memory. She knew him too well to demand anything when his every grain of thought was required elsewhere. For John, he did not need the additional distraction to be present in the dining room and Evelyn would never contest her needs over his.

An enquiring mind brings sheer joy to its owner and for those around a profound sense of awe at hearing the words from such a person.

Such a brain as John’s which calculated and revisited the Cul de sacs of all the unfinished equations had led to a life for his wife Evelyn, few women would contemplate. It would have not been considered, at this time, a proper marriage, let alone continue with a marriage of such solitude. Looking in on their relationship, the outside world would have had eyes of envy. A lifestyle of the well to do and all their needs met. Although few words were spoken, Lord John was forever in Evelyn’s debt. Never taking her faithfulness for granted. This guarantee in their relationship was as solid as a rock, like granite. In this way they love and understanding for each other was immeasurable.

Now, John was determined to prove his thoughts to the World and he would not disappoint, this physicist needed closure. Eventually, John’s Sunset theory was tested and was finally accepted. John’s thinking had urged Edward to concur, that the removal of the shorter wavelengths of light due to the scattering by the air molecules which were much smaller than the wavelengths of visible light. These came to be known as “Rayleigh scattering”, named after him, the sunset hues with a spectrum ranging from the yellows and reds to greens and blues. That burned as the Sun lowered in the sky and appears like a wonderful act of nature, for most.

Back in her garden, Maggie blinkered as the last of the day’s sunset vanished below the horizon once again. Taking herself inside knowing that her distant relative, Mrs Matterson had witnessed an amazing theory unfold in the study, of Lord John, the 3^rd Baron of Rayleigh.

  

All of Lord John’s work concluded on his death on the 30^th June 1919 in Witham, Essex.

Copyright Carole Blackburn Aug 2021

 PADSTOW 

Peter Woodgate 

As masses weave their way

through narrow streets

what do they think?

as face to face with history they meet.

Is it just to walk the dogs

that brings them here?

or to appreciate the architecture?

No, nor any other pastime, I fear.

It appears before Rick Stein arrived

with fancy menus,

it was just a quiet place,

local residents,

living hand-to-mouth,

a little fishing boat

to catch the seafood that,

kept them afloat,

and, paid the rent.

Good old Rick,

he saved their lives,

his food, it’s said,

could raise the dead

and many shops then sprang to life,

selling, chalk and tiles and clay

and anything that came their way.

as customers flocked

across thresholds of excitement.

It’s progress, so they say,

the modern world, this is the way.

But I am sad, for Cornwall’s magic

fades rapidly within the queues

of traffic, as it quickly spews

it’s frustration through our heads

and on our brows, beads form

to trickle down to meet our chin,

anxiety it will begin

and all this takes away the bliss,

euphoria, a gentle kiss,

and other wonders that I miss.   

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate