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Sunday, 23 October 2022

Living in the Modern age

 Living in the Modern age 

By Sis Unsworth 


I haven’t put my heating on, & I’ve switched off all the lights,

As when I read my meter, it just gave me a fright.

I’ve bought a lot of candles, in case the power goes,

They say there could be blackouts, but then who really knows?

I’ve heard that all the onesies, have been purchased that’s for sure

To keep warm in the winter, is bound to be a chore.

So, I’ll buy an Army greatcoat, like they wore throughout the wars,

And scarves and hats and gloves, just to wear indoors.

People really worry how they’ll pay their household bills,

And find we are all cutting back, at the supermarket tills.

I’ve got a strange contraption, that just boils one cup of tea,

As the cost to fill the kettle, is now a luxury.

With all the things we’re living through, & the cutbacks it will bring.

We had our diamond wedding, & I thought I’d like a ring,

But living in this modern age, I’ve had to pay the price,

As things will now be difficult, I’ve made a sacrifice.

To wear a lovely diamond ring, is no longer my desire,

Conforming to the modern age, I’m buying a new ‘Air Fryer’

 

         Copyright Sis Unsworth

Saturday, 22 October 2022

BELLA

 BELLA 

Jane Scoggins  

   They all sat beside Bella as she lay lethargically on the sofa. Joanne was trying not to cry but it wasn’t working very well and she could feel tears welling up in her eyes and threatening to spill down her cheeks. Lyn reached over and squeezed her hand. They couldn’t bear the thought of losing her but knew it was only a matter of time.

Bella was loved by all who knew her, not just Joanne and Lynn who had lived next door since they were young children, and used to seeing her almost every day. They were always in and out of each others houses. The girls remembered when Bella used to call in and see them if they were unwell. She brought them presents even when it was not their birthdays or Christmas. Not only was she very loving but also a real character who could make people laugh even on a bad day. And there had been a few of those over the years. When Dad was taken ill suddenly and Mum was in a state about it Bella took it all in her stride and kept the girls company watching TV comforting them as best she could. As they grew older they felt they could confide in her their secrets and worries

 
So with Bella getting on in years and decidedly poorly everyone was feeling upset. Not responding to the last lot of medication was an indication that Bella may not recover, but no one wanted to admit it. Word spread amongst the neighbours and a few called in to say hullo. Bella had lost interest in food which was most unusual, as she had always loved eating. So much so that she had had to go on a diet the previous year so she could get up and down stairs without getting out of breath.
  

  As expected Bella passed away peacefully at home surrounded by her family. The neighbours were invited to a little wake at home on the day she was cremated. Her ashes were sprinkled on the flowerbeds she loved so much and under the Rowan tree, she liked to sit under in spring and summer. Mr Grumpy down the road was not invited. He had never really liked Bella and neither she him. He had always said that cats were smelly creatures and he really disliked them not just because they brought on his asthma but pooped in his garden, and tried to catch and eat the birds that came to his precious bird table. But no one gave Mr Grumpy a second thought that day.

Copyright Jane Scoggins

 

Friday, 21 October 2022

A Themed Sequence

 A Themed Sequence

Robert Kingston 


Something of a new form for me, a themed sequence.

Feel free to comment:

 

you paint

the flower the sun

does it better 

 

burrowed light

beneath the bush

 

a spot

on the beetle from

tip to tip

 

no need to count

the devil’s details

 

leaving

the domino puzzle

crumbling

 

Copyright Rob Kingston

Wednesday, 19 October 2022

THE GREAT BRIGHT

 THE GREAT BRIGHT 

by Richard Banks 


There are many sorts of fame, a subject on which many folk have expressed an opinion. To inaccurately paraphrase Shakespeare some people are born famous, some achieve fame and some have fame thrust upon them. Three hundred years later Oscar Wilde, yet to make his mark on the literary world, established the concept of being famous for being famous, a concept much practised in present times by celebrities such as Kim Kardashian. In the 1960s Andy Warhol declared that in future everyone would be famous, but only for fifteen minutes. No doubt, Socrates would have disagreed with the lot of them, for him fame was, ‘the perfume of heroic deeds’. 

         None of these definitions, however, seem to fit Edward Bright of Maldon who became famous for being the stoutest man in England. Two hundred and seventy two years after his death his fame shows no sign of fading, like Edward during his lifetime it grows ever larger; if you don’t believe me look at the many web-sites about him. Better still keep reading, for what follows is the life story of Edward who entered this world on 1st March 1721 in Great Waltham, Essex.

         He was one of five children born to William and Mary Bright of whom little seems to be known beyond that they were prosperous, middling sort of folk who were probably non-conformist in religion. They did, however, have a nearly famous person in their family tree, a Mrs Jane Disbrowe, sister to Oliver Cromwell.

         Having been born, the next sighting we have of Edward is of him working as a post boy delivering mail on horseback, an occupation that ended when at the age of twelve and already twelve stone in weight someone took pity on the horse. Well, there were many lighter boys and the poor horse also had letters and parcels to carry. However, it may be that Edward’s family decided to call time on this employment preferring to secure his future prosperity by buying him an apprenticeship, which they did in 1733 when, age thirteen, he was apprenticed to Joseph Pattison, a grocer living and trading in Maldon. Pattison was a very wealthy man and, like Edward’s family, a non-conformist. Possibly it was this religious connection that persuaded Pattison to take Edward on but it would seem that Edward had already established a reputation for being able and trustworthy. If so, this would account for him, still only thirteen, being called upon to witness the will of one of Maldon’s best know citizens, the Reverend Joseph Billio. 

         Edward lived in Pattison’s house learning his trade until the completion of his apprenticeship in 1740 at which time he weighed around twenty-four stone. In 1743 he became a freeman of Maldon and, in the same year, his father died leaving him £200. This was the second of a number of legacies he received enabling him to set-up in business on his own account and marry one Mary Browne of Enfield, the family home being above a shop he purchased in Maldon High Street. The business prospered and Edward bought or leased a further property in Maldon at which he manufactured candles. Edward’s business interests sometimes took him to London where his great stature attracted much attention, no doubt helping to spread his fame throughout the country. It certainly attracted the attention of artist, David Ogborne who painted Edward’s portrait and two engravers who produced etchings from it. I don’t know if the picture still exists but a painting based on one of the engravings featured in an episode of the Antiques Roadshow televised in 2016.

         Although Edward’s weight increased steadily during his lifetime he was strong and active until a year or so before his death. It is reputed that he was 5’9” tall, measured 5’ 6” around the chest, and 6’ 1” around the stomach. Known affectionately as the ‘Fat Man of Maldon’ or the ‘Great Bright’ he was a popular and well-regarded man in his community. In 1750 he suffered a long illness during which he was sometimes bled of as much as thirty-two ounces of blood. On 10 November 1750, age twenty-nine, he died. The primary cause of death was not his great weight, then forty-four stone, but typhoid. However, a contemporary report states that ‘his corpulence so overpowered his strength, that his life was a burden and his death a deliverance’.

         In order to remove his body from the upstairs bedroom where he died it was necessary to demolish the staircase of his house and part of a wall. His specially constructed coffin was conveyed to All Saints Church, Maldon for burial by carriage and then on rollers to its final resting place. He was interred on 12 November. The parish records contain the following tribute to him – ‘He was a very honest tradesman, a facetious [witty] companion, comely [handsome] in his person, affable in his temper, a tender father and valuable friend.’ His death and burial were widely reported in newspapers about the country.

         His fame, which otherwise might have been short lived, soon became the stuff of legend due to two extraordinary wagers that took place shortly after his death.. In the first an inveterate gambler accepted a bet that seven men could fit into Edward’s waistcoat. No doubt he thought he was onto a sure thing but the sly fellow proposing the bet actually won it when, on 1 December 1750 at the Black Bull Inn in Maldon seven unnamed men of the Dengie Hundred were buttoned into the waistcoat. Two months later a second wager took place at the Kings Head, also in Maldon, when nine men of the town were easily fitted into Edward’s waistcoat. This time we have their names and occupations. Surprisingly they include the vicar, parish clerk, a customs officer and six prominent tradesmen, including a Joseph Pattison, presumably Edward’s old master.

         Like me you may be wondering if these two events actually happened. If they did they seem extraordinarily insensitive, if not insulting, to the recently bereaved. Having not seen the original records I am unable to say one way or the other but why spoil a good story that has done much to boost Maldon as a visitor destination. 

         Go to Maldon. I recommend it. And if you do be sure to see the sights – the bronze reliefs commemorating the wager outside the Continental Cafe in Maldon High Street, a sculpture of the wager and a replica of the famous waistcoat in Maldon Museum, and Edward’s grave in All Saints Church where he is also commemorated in the Maldon Embroidery. Unfortunately, both Edward’s shop and candle-making factory have been replaced by more modern buildings. The sites are presently home to a nail parlour and Maldon Town Hall but a house built and lived in by his son, another Edward, has survived. Known as Church House it is now ‘Mrs Salisbury’s Famous Tea Rooms’. George Junior was also corpulent although at a mere twenty stone less than half the man his father was. He continued the family businesses adding to them the manufacture of Maldon salt. He took an active part in politics, becoming leader of Maldon’s Whigs. Descendants of both men continue to live in Maldon as evidenced by the business premises of Bright & Sons, solicitors.

         One thing that will not be found in Maldon is the main exhibit, Edward’s waistcoat. At the time of his death it was, apparently, at the tailor’s for letting out. In the next one hundred and ninety years it seems to have had various owners before ending up in Maldon Museum where soon after the start of WWII it was put into storage. Alas, it was never seen again. 

         To end with another quote about fame, Samuel Johnson, who was a contemporary of Edward Bright said – among many other things – ‘time quickly puts an end to artificial and accidental fame.’ If he had Edward in mind he could not have been more wrong. 

Compiled by Richard Banks

 

Bibliography:

Youtube video by Lynne Raymond and, the websites of:

Visitmaldondistrict;

Wikipedia;

BBC - Essex - History;

All Saints with St Peter, Maldon; and

Maldon Nub News – Historic Maldon.

 

 

Friday, 14 October 2022

Triveni Spotlight

 

Triveni Spotlight


From Rob Kingston



Copyright Robert Kingson

Wednesday, 12 October 2022

THE LARGER PIE


 THE LARGER PIE 

Peter Woodgate 

I hear that it must grow and grow,

The latest from Mis Trust and Co.

We all must have jobs that pay more

So why the strikes, are we so sure.

There are lots of mundane jobs to do

But poorly paid, is that a clue.

These basic jobs are our foundation,

They are essential in creation.

Tower blocks, they need a base,

They may be hidden, without a face

But we ignore them at our peril,

And our growth may well be sterile.

Each bud that blooms does so through roots

They must be fed or else they die,

And starved of their essential needs

The blossoms fall, alas you sigh.

Growth is structured and should ensure

There’s no huge gap between rich and poor.

This future pie, it must be made

Each ingredient with a proper measure,

The crust atop should share the glory

And when sliced, expose the treasure.

 

Of course, you may think,

That this is just barmy,

I look back to the slave trade,

The Miners, the Hierarchy.

 

 

 

Peter Woodgate  Oct 2022

 

 

 

Tuesday, 11 October 2022

Tylywoch ~ 27

 Tylywoch ~ 27 Captives III 

By Len Morgan


   When Vadeem entered the cell, it was dark cold silent, and empty.   "Galyx, It's me Vadeem," there was no answer.   He took a lamp from outside into the cell "Bengora's Blood!" he swore angrily, the cell was most definitely empty. He went out into the passage.   "Call for additional men, he's gone, we will have to search the entire area."

"How could that have happened do you suppose?" the Surbatt corporal smirked.

Vadeem hit him full in the face, and he fell to the floor in a semi-conscious state.

"I gave you an order Corporal, jump to it!"

He staggered to his feet yelling "You heard the captain, call for reinforcements, Now!" The two soldiers headed for the stairs at the double, the corporal six strides behind them.   Stealth quad took them out on the second flight but they never knew.   The corporal died seconds later, none the wiser. 

For the second time in forty-eight hours, Vadeem found himself a captive of the Tylywoch.

"This is getting to be a habit," he muttered through clenched teeth.

"The tables are turned," said Galyx appearing from nowhere. Vadeem was manhandled into the cell and the door slammed shut.

"Hey your not leaving me here are you?" Vadeem shouted at Galyx's retreating back. 

"Not afraid of the dark are you" Galyx taunted.

"Glamhorten is looking for you." He answered ignoring the jibe.

"How would you know that?"

"She sent me to get you."

"She owns you?"

He nodded "No!   aaagh  fee-oow!"

"Take me to her."

"Not a good idea aaagh!" said Vadeem in obvious distress "bitch!  "She will turn you if you go to her aaah! ah ah aaah.   She's p-un-nishing me f tell-ing…  ya ah aaah!!!"

"Save your breath and your strength friend, I know what she is capable of.   Just take me to her."

"You wittard!   I'm trying to save you!" he shook his head and left the cell, followed by Galyx. 

.-…-. 

"They're outside," said Galt "He has a dozen guards with him."

"Open up merchant!" an authoritarian voice yelled. banging hard on the door.

"Whoever is out there, go away and return in the morning during normal hours of business, between 7 & 7."

"Open or we will break the door down!   We are Guardians of the Empire, from the palace, on official business."

"Please do not start breaking things or you'll answer to my wife!   That door is ironwood from the Northern Mayam provinces, it would cost a fortune to replace it!   Have a modicum of patience I'm on my way."    The door was unbarred and a sleepy Galt peered out at the late callers, dressed in a long nightgown.   "How can I be of service to the Empress?" he inquired.

 

"You have an assistant…"

 

"Yes, Weilla, excellent worker strong, conscientious, honest, and cheap…"

"We do not require a character reference thank you," said Wilden "where is she?"

""She’s abed and asleep where every honest hardworking soul should be…"

"Take me to her," he demanded.   Four stayed at the door, the remainder followed Wilden inside.   "You four come with me, the rest of you search this place, you know what to look for."

Galt led them down to the cellar,

"There she is," said Wilden "Take her!" 

.-…-. 

She was dozing, when the dream recurred.   As always it was her mother's face, clear and detailed, yet on waking she could not even recall the colour of her eyes. 

The voice gave warning, "Beware the thirteenth warrior 'kebu master' for therein lies your demise." 

She awoke perspiring and distraught, tired, not refreshed by her slumbers.   She was frustrated by her inability to decipher the dream, was it a symbolic message or a warning from beyond the grave… 

Taleen stirred beside her, conscious of the agitating ripples in her mind; so finely was he attuned to her.  She threw back the bed coverers and admired his naked young body.   Fit healthy bronze and hard, he'd been hers since birth, ever since she'd poisoned his mother, shortly after cutting his cord.   She dove into his mind and turned him onto his back.   She smiled on witnessing his stirring; he always did that even as a child, he became hard whenever she entered his mind.   He slept on untroubled by her presence

as she roamed his mind, the busy routes and byways so familiar to her, like a well-thumbed map.   She smiled as she arrived at the twin houses of pain & pleasure.   She entered and he responded predictably - they always slept naked in the Blutt fashion - he rolled towards her his mouth and tongue lapping the perspiration from her neck and breasts as she desired.   She enjoyed physical pleasures with all her slaves, but most of all Taleen, he'd been her intimate since his early years, they were so close that she could experience the pleasures of sex in his mind, from the masculine perspective, and concurrently from her own feminine side.   She liked that, an instance of complete control, she looked down at him lapping between her loins, controlling and guiding his unconscious actions, he did her bidding at the speed of thought, as superior to the common carnal act, as a luxury fruit cocktail confection is, to plain oatmeal.

She lay still, closing her eyes, enjoying… 

She sensed the servant's approach and eased Taleen gently back to his side of the giant-sized circular bed.   There was a gentle knock.

"Wait!   I'm coming out!"    She spoke directly to the servant's mind, but it would seem to him as though she had called to him through the door.   She quickly skimmed his mind and discovered that Vadeem and the guards had returned with Galyx.

 

Jumping from her bed she donned a sheer full-length black silk kimono.   Taleen stirred, so she sent him soothing messages and he settled back to sleep.  She padded barefoot, to answer the door.   The servant delivered his message nervously and left.   She approached the adjoining room, scanning its occupants as a matter of routine.   Something was wrong.   Vadeem was agitated.   She didn't recognise any of the guards, or Galyx, whose mind appeared barren, blank, and unfathomable.   She didn't like that.   She was aware that Vadeem had been talking about her, probably to Galyx, but she didn't know what he’d said.   The guards minds were trained and disciplined, but they couldn't shield against her, so instead they all projected thoughts of happiness and well being, but the discipline told her, they were Tylywoch! 

"Where in Bedelocq's name was Wilden he should be back by now!" casting her mind around the city in ever-increasing circles she was unable to locate him, was he dead?

She cast her mind wide, "All slaves, To me - NOW!"

"She's calling for help, she knows something is amiss, she knows your TylywaaaaaaagH!"  He fell in a heap as if poleaxed.  

Glamhorten used the distraction to make her entrance.   "Galyx" she said in a husky distinctive voice, a welcoming smile on her face, "I have been so looking forward to meeting you.   Am I to fear you?"

 

"That could have been a very costly error of judgment on your part," he said nodding towards the unconscious Vadeem.

She turned to face him, eyes blazing with flecks of orange and yellow playing across the orbs.   "Come here!" she commanded.

Galyx was taken aback by the power of her word and stepped towards her.   One step led to another, each successively harder to resist, but his mind remained impassive and blank.  

.-…-. 

Wilden awoke in complete darkness, the only sound he was conscious of was his own breathing.   At first, he thought he'd been blinded by Glamhorten in a fit of pique for some real or imagined transgression on his part but, he was able to move his eyes without pain, it felt different.   There were ghostly shadows of grey passing before his retina, if he squeezed his eyes tight shut he could see flashes sparks and patterns of light. "Thank Bedelacq," he said and therein realised his hearing was intact, the lesser of his fears.   He tried moving his arms, they were bound at the wrist, as were his ankles, on moving he realised he was cold, he was naked and cold.   He fought manfully to loose his bonds, he struggled until they were badly chafed without success, they wouldn't yield.

He listened again for an age but heard nothing.   He shouted and yelled at the top of his lungs a lot of the sound was absorbed, but what came back was deflected from close by.   He was in a small room or a crate, but the absence of outside influence…   Then suddenly it came to him in a rush of panic, it was a coffin!   He had been buried alive!

There had been a dozen guards accompanying him when he entered the premises.   He recalled following four of them into the cellar to apprehend the girl, then the lights went out.  

"Guards!    To me now!" he'd yelled up the cellar stair well.   He'd heard the rush of approaching feet.   "In here" he yelled.   They had rushed down the stairs in answer to his call, then silence.   There are twelve of them, he'd thought before the world went black and he lost consciousness.    He again tried to loosen his bonds, without success.   He called out again then tried mind contact with Glamhorten or anybody but, if he was more than a few feet below ground it severely restricted the range over which he could communicate.   His mind slipped back to his period of training when she had punished minor infractions by locking him inside a wooden trunk, for hours until she judged from his mind that he'd learned his lesson and displayed sincere contrition.    But, he always knew she would free him eventually, now nothing was guaranteed.   He redoubled his effort to escape, soaking the ropes in his own urine in the hope it would soften, stretch or loosen his bonds.   He didn't want to die like this!   He didn't want to die slowly fighting for every breath…

He slept and woke alternately, not knowing if he slept for minutes or days.   At odd times he lapsed and found himself at the mercy of his own mind, and being unable to escape, was near to panic and likely to go completely mad.   Instead, he became calm and resigned to his fate.   He was going to die, that was inevitable, be it now or in fifty years.   He examined himself critically, physically, mentally, emotionally, and in retrospect.   Surprisingly his mind and his conscience were clear.   He awaited comment from his constant companion the guiding voice that had been with him since that first night in Blutt central, it was absent.   His mind flew back thirty years.   That first night he had slept on his stomach, naked on a thin blanket in a wicker basket, it had seemed a luxury.  He was warm and dry and the bedding was soft and resilient.   For the first time in months, he’d slept without constant fear of attack in the night from one of his own, or from the seekers.   He slept soundly and well.

.-…-. 

He awoke instantly alert and ready, as the older boy approached him in the early hours to begin his training.   He didn't move, instead, he waited for the second timid tap on his shoulder before sitting up.

"It's time."

Wilden rose from the pallet, as the boy scurried behind him, talking all the while as you would to a highly strung horse.   He gently rubbed something onto the dry blood-encrusted welts on Wilden’s back.

"Salt helps wounds to heal without scarring, mistress doesn't like scars." He explained, wiping off the extraneous crystals with a soft cloth.   He then applied a soothing balm, massaging it into the wounds.   "This will make your skin supple, so the wounds do not burst open when you stretch suddenly.   Don't make any sudden moves over the next few days." He warned.   "Your duties are simply to see to her needs.   You will go to the market each morning to obtain fresh produce.   We need vegetables milk herbs and meat; she is particularly partial to fresh bloody meat.   She likes her steaks rare, seared on the outside, and warm on the inside.   Vegetables must be cooked but crisp and herbs are used for tisanes and teas.   We will have to fight to get the best produce; the strongest always take the best, whilst the rest of us get the pick of what is left.   Come on!"

Wilden followed him to the market and was surprised to note that all the boys hurried to queue for meat.   So, he went to get their vegetables and was pleased to see he had a wide choice.    He walked in and took the best that was available, and more than he needed.

"If we have to cook for her, who cooks for us?" he asked.

The boy looked at him as if he was stupid.

"What is your name?" he asked the older boy as he demonstrated the finer points of boning a joint of meat.

"Slave," he said, “I am Slave!”

"My name is Wilden…" he began offering his hand.

"It's better not to get close to people" the boy explained ignoring the proffered hand. 

"Why?" he asked.

"People come and people go." Was the cryptic reply.

Two weeks later, another boy was serving, 'Slave' was gone.   Wilden never saw him again. 

"Slave!   Where is my food." She called.

He ran to pander to her needs, then, and from that day on…

(to be continued)

 

Copyright Len Morgan