How Much Do I Love Thee

By Len Morgan 

It’s Thursday, half-day closing, I can tell.  She’s getting all excited.

She's putting on her war paint, Lippy, Rouge, and a dab of chanel No5 behind her ears. 

There was a time when she would do that for me, now it’s for somebody else.  

Is it platonic?  I doubt that.  She was ever the warm passionate woman.

It’s been three years since I left, but as yet she hasn’t moved on. 

But, she has to move on!  It hurts me to see her tear-stained face, day after day. 

It’s a testament to our love that she lasted this long, and I know she will never forget me. 

But, at the weekend they will spread my ashes by my beloved Thames, and then we can all move on…

 The Begining...

The Haunted House 1

By Jane Goodhew

He stood in front of the old decrepit three-story Victorian house where he'd grown up, with old Uncle Bill and Aunty Milly.  A flickering streetlamp cast shadows across its facade, telling those who wanted to know, that its days as a grand house were over.  

"Is this place haunted dear?"

John gripped his wife's hand. "Of course not, it's just old."

They stood very still in the cold evening wind for a minute or two, then she asked the question. "We sold our lovely house in the suburbs for this.  Are you sure it's not haunted?"

"Of course not."

"Then can you tell me who that faint white face in the top left window belongs to?"

“You’re seeing things, my dear, its just the light shining in the window, lets go in and start making it our home”.

 

That was two weeks ago and since then I am beginning to think that maybe my wife was correct in thinking this house is haunted and there is someone other than the two of us living here.  It’s little things like flowers appearing in a vase on the table yet neither of us put them there.  Floorboards creaking in the night long after we have gone to bed.  Lights being left on although we know we have turned them off.  Yes, there is definitely someone else in this house and before too long I intend to find out who it is.

I know a priest and although I don’t believe in exorcism, I think he might be able to help us come to terms with these unexplainable events.

Father 0’Donnel was prompt, and his arrival couldn’t have come at a better time for it was Halloween.  We asked as many questions as we could about the history of the house and its occupants prior to my aunt and uncle but there was nothing spectacular.  The usual married couples with children who had then moved on to downsize.  None had ever complained of feeling that the house was haunted although they suspected because of its age that there would have been at least one death.  People in the Victorian times tended to die at home and often in childbirth so would have been young. 

Father O’Donnel left without giving us any clues as to what was happening within our home. It did seem to be a benevolent spirit not malevolent.  So we decided we could accept it and make it part of our forever home.

 

Copyright Jane Goodhew

 

                                                              

 Fortune Cookies

Jane Goodhew

I might have known with my luck lately, what am I saying; lately?  Don’t I mean for centuries, or it seems that way so why would a fortune cookie wish me good fortune in love, money, or luck and yes you guessed, it didn’t, it foretold what could be my demise and told me to get out post haste. 

Don’t be ridiculous you’re thinking how a cookie could know what will happen to you or anyone, it can’t but perhaps it can put the idea into your head, and you will react accordingly viewing everyone and everything with suspicion.  Walk around a ladder instead of under and then get knocked down by a bus or whatever…. Anyway, it isn’t Friday 13^th that was last week. 

I would not go along with this, after all, I have always considered myself to be extremely lucky especially in comparison to for the moment those in the line of the last few hurricanes or forest fires or worn torn countries or those hit by famine or lack of clean water or those in need of a McMillan Nurse.  Just watch the adverts asking for money and you will see how lucky you are but then isn’t there a saying not to compare yourself to others or you will become bitter, twisted and vein or words to that effect.?

The sky outside the restaurant is continually changing as it naturally does and deep silver-grey clouds sit amongst pink, that foretells a beautiful day tomorrow but had this happened yesterday I might have believed it, after all it did look as if the end was nigh. 

The sky had been flat and dark and menacing and a bright blood reddish orange orb sat in the sky, it couldn’t be the sun for you could look at it and it did not seem to hurt your eyes (but then of course only time would tell if it had) and this ’orb’ it was so round it looked like the harvest moon but it was daytime?  Was it not?  Even the birds were confused as it was more like dusk or was it dawn when they either went home to roost or left home looking for food but although they at first flew in formation with military precision they were not sure which way to go so seemed to circle and hover whilst the leader of the squadron decided.  Whilst they just circled and hovered as the wind blew harder and the by now milk a magnesia sky was replaced by blue and the real sun now sat not directly south but had moved to the west where it would settle for the evening.  Life as we and the birds knew it had been resumed so forget the cookie and its forebodings, I am off to meet that stranger and talk to all and sundry after all we have already had my Zemblanity moment, for you see I am a ghost.  

The cookie had been correct but it got the wrong week!

Copyright Jane Goodhew

Rayleigh Mount (Nature 02)

 Rayleigh Mount 

By Sis Unsworth

 

A haven is nestled in the center of town,

a place to escape, when you’re feeling down.

The changing seasons bring, visions to behold.

From the clear glow of spring, to Autumns' pure gold.

The mysteries of nature are, too diverse to count,

Blend with pure harmony, in our Rayleigh Mount.

The image of life we all like to see,

a sanctuary for wildlife, abundant and free.

But fear is restrictive, when you go there alone,

I’ve heard some avoid, going there on their own.

Scared for their safety, in that secluded place,

the Mount would be empty, if fear had its way.

They should feel protected, then people would stay

if there were park keepers, protecting the mount,

It would be used more, on every account.

It may banish fear, and help others to see,

the beauty of nature, so natural and free.

But sometimes it's better, the devil you know,

To save Rayleigh Mount, from being a ‘no go’.

They have to save money, that may well be true,

If we can’t pay Park keepers, what else can they do?

I look to the future, and in my mind's eye,

I see it protected, by drones and AI.

 

Copyright Sis Unsworth

 

VALUE (Nature 01)

 VALUE 

By Richard Banks 

It was seventeen years ago that I first came to Wyburns Avenue. I arrived on foot, an estate agent’s leaflet in my pocket, to view a house on the edge of town, backing onto an industrial estate. Neither of these factors encouraged me to think that this was the place for me, but, at least, it was worth a look. Indeed, having viewed nearly twenty properties, and found them all for different reasons unsuitable, I was beginning to despair of finding one that was.

         It had to be the right house in the right street; not one or the other - both. While I was not hopeful that my quest was about to end I at least had the consolation of a sunny morning in April that had finally shrugged off winter and was slowly, but surely, warming the air about me.  

         The corner into Wyburns Avenue unfolded slowly, no sudden turn, rather a slow unwinding, with a grass verge on one side of the tarmac pavement and a high privet, interspersed with laurel, to my right. With the view ahead restricted by the hedge my first sight of Wyburns was of a concrete road pleasantly aglow in the sunlight and, beyond it, a corner bungalow next door to two post-war semi’s. OK so far, but could it be a yes?

         What came next, as I finally turned the corner, was probably going to make-up my mind as to whether this street was a contender or a definite no. What I saw next was a cherry tree, pink sprays of blossom against a blue sky, a light breeze silently trembling it’s wide spread branches. There were two more to come and further along, on the other side of the road, two stately sycamores on a grassy corner that none-the-less had room for a road that I later discovered looped around to join up with itself.

         My tree count extended to an oak as high as the sycamores and, like them, beginning to clothe its winter skeleton with a first scattering of leaves. There were other much smaller trees in some of the front gardens, along with bushes, large and small, some in bud but for now preceded and upstaged by daffodils, yellow trumpets silently exulting in the miracle of Spring.

         Some of the gardens contained people, tending flower beds and lawns while others were washing cars on paved driveways; one of them, having ventured beyond his garden gate, was mowing the grass verge outside his house.

         This was a road that people liked living in, took pride in. A black and white cat was crossing the carriageway at a leisurely pace, knowing that there was little or no traffic and that the chaffinch it was stalking was only too aware of its approach not to flap its sheeny green wings in ample time to escape. A nest in one of the sycamores testified to the existence of other, larger birds, presently unseen. There would, I felt sure, be squirrels, no doubt a fox or two.

         I was hooked, and as I drew level with the house in the leaflet I was fervently hoping that this was not going to be the wrong house in the right place. That would have been cruel, but then how could a neat, well maintained house called Holly Lodge with stained glass windows in the front door be cruel? No, that could never be.

Copyright Richard Banks

Think On

 Think On

Anon 

Sometime when you’re feeling important,

sometime when your ego’s in bloom,

sometime when you take it for granted,

your the best qualified man in the room.

Sometime when you feel that you're going,

would leave an unfillable hole,

just follow this simple instruction,

and see how it humbles your soul.

Take a bucket and fill it with water,

put your hands in up to your wrists.

pull them out - and the hole that remains

is a measure of how much you’ll be missed.

You may splash all you please when you enter

you may stir up the water galore

but stop, and you’ll find in a minute

That it looks just the same as before.

The moral of this is quite simple,

Just do the best that you can.

Be proud of yourself but remember-

there is no indispensable man.!!

I told My boss, on his retirement, that he would really be missed.  He smiled and handed me the above poem.  We never found out who penned it, but it is a truism…

 

 WHEN AT FIRST YOU DON’T SUCEED…

By Bob French

NB; For effect, words in italics are spoken in an East London accent.

Monica hurried across the thick pile carpet of the Clove Club in Shoreditch, and eased herself into the plush chair that was being held for her by a young waiter, then begged the forgiveness of Shiela for being late.

            “Anthony was using the Jaguar and it took Jim, his chauffeur ages to get back through the tunnel. So sorry darling.”

            Sheila nodded at the young waiter who quietly poured Monica a half glass of 1984, Domaine Pontifical Chateauneuf du Pape.  The most expensive wine on the list.

Monica Hollingsworth and Sheila Thornton had known each other ever since they sat together at the London Fields Primary School in Hackney, aged seven. They had become life-long friends;’ true Eastenders to the end,’ was their chant whenever they got drunk together, which was often.  The minute the young waiter left, they dropped their posh Knightsbridge accent and reverted to their Eastend dialect.

“Aint seen you for ages luv.  How’s your Harry doing?”

Sheila laughed, “They don’t call him fat Harry for nothin’. He’s putting on a lot of weight poor bugger.  He tried one of those diets but chucked it in after a week.  Said it made him feel hungry would you believe.  And your Tony?”

Monica smiled.  “Workin’ all the hours God sent, but he’s good.”

Sheila smiled. “So, what ya gonna get for ya birthday then?  Given it any thought luv?”

“Well as it ‘appens, I was down Oxford Street a coupla weeks ago and had a good look around Tiffany’s, but nuffin grabbed me, so I ‘ad a look-see in some of the other top-end jewelers, but not even a twinkle caught me eye.”

“You aint got long luv, better shift yer self.”

“Well as it happens, I wondered dan Bon Street and after avin a look around some of the usual jewelry shops I came across Frampton and Frampton, an who do you think I bumped into?”

Sheila searched Monica’s face for a clue, then gave up. “Dunno, who’d ya bump into?”

Do you remember Bob Hillsworvy?  You know, we both ad a crush on him during our first year at Hackney Secondary Modern when he was in his last term.” 

Monica studied Sheila’s face to see if she remembered. “You know, ‘e had lovely blue eyes and went out wiv that blond kid, Jill Samson.”

“Sheila gave a short scream, “Yeah, I remember him.  Didn’t ‘e get her pregnant or sumit?”

“Yep.  So getting’ back to the story.  I fancied the really nice necklace that was on display in the window so decided to wander in and have a shuftty.   I was a little shocked when I stepped into this Frampton un Frampton.  They had heavy security doors and a big bloke just inside the shop. Asked me what I was doing ‘ere?  So I told him that I was interested in the necklace in the window.”

“Wait ere miss, is all ‘e said, and went to get the manager I suppose.”

“Well I nearly wet me knickers, when who should enter the room but Bob Hillsworvy.  Well, ‘e introduced himself in a real posh accent as ‘Robert Hillsorthy, the manager,’ and enquired as what madam was interested in.”

“Did e remember you then?

“Na, don’t fink so. I described the necklace and the turned and instructed one of his staff to go get it from the window. Very impressive.   Sheila luv, it were gorgeous.   Ah remembers that if ya haveta ask the price, ya shouldn’t be in the shop, so we danced about its make-up, you know, its history, how many diamonds and who owened it before until he real discretely like, shows me the price tag.”

With excitement in her voice, Sheila whispers,“’ow much then?”

“Ten big ones.”  Before Sheila could scream out, Monica interrupted her.  “I had to ‘ave it luv.”

“So, what happened?”

“I tried to knock ‘im down, but he emphasized in his posh accent that ‘Frampton and Frampton were not in the business of bartering.  ‘The price was as stated Madam.’ So I thanked him and said that I may return, and left.”

“Well, looks like you’re stuffed.  Tony aint gonna pay out ten grand is he? so what ya gonna do?”

After they had finished their lunch, Monica suggested that they meet up in a month’s time, to celebrate her fortieth birthday.  They left the most exclusive restaurant in the East end, and after kissing each other’s checks, Sheila climbed into a waiting taxi, whilst Jim held open the rear door of her husband’s Jaguar.

“Where to Mama?”

“Do you know where my husband is at present Jim?”

“Yes Mama.  He’s at a meeting with the directors of the London Stock Exchange.  It will finish at six o’clock.  Do you want to wait for him, or do you wish me to take you home?”

“Home please.”

Once she got home, she showered, carefully applied her make-up then put on the sexy underwear and transparent night gown he had presented her for last Christmas and after chilling a Bordeaux 78, turned down the lights and relaxed to wait for him.

Tony had had a demanding meeting at Paternoster Square, the headquarters of the Exchange and felt mentally and physically tired.  A drink, a light meal, then early to bed was uppermost in his mind as Jim opened the rear door of the Jaguar.

No sooner had Tony stepped inside the front door, when Monica pounced upon him.

Tony was a little shocked at the sudden attention his wife was showering him with and as he struggled to remain upright whilst she roughly removed his clothes, immediately understood what was going on.  After what appeared to be nearly an hour on the plush rug in front of a raging log fireplace, and several glasses of wine later, he sat up and took a deep breath and stared down at her.

“Alright darling, You’ve found what you want for your birthday, is that it?”

“Oh, darling, you can read me like a book.”

“Can we leave it until Friday, then I promise you we can go and have a look at it.  Is that alright?”

Monica smiled as she took his hand and started to drag him upstairs.  “First my darling I want to thank you for being… just you, then we can have something to eat and maybe watch a movie.”

Tony was not only late for his meeting the following day, but was starving as he had missed the evening meal and breakfast.  Jim was a little surprised when asked to stop at the McDonalds on the way up to the city and grab a sausage and egg McMuffin.

Friday came and Jim dropped them off just outside Frampton and Frampton.  The heavy doors opened and the guard, who recognized Monica, buzzed for the manager.

Robert Hillsworthy appeared from the office and smiled.

“Good morning, Madam.  It is good to see you again.  Would you like to view the piece you were looking at the last time you visited us?”

“Yes please.”  Before he turned to instruct one of his staff to retrieve the necklace, Monica introduced her husband. “This is my husband, Sir Anthony Riddlesworth.”

Tony nodded to the manager and waited to view the trinket his wife fancied for her birthday.

“Good to see you Sir Riddlesworth. I must applaud your wife on her choice of jewelry.”

Robert carefully laid out the necklace then stood back.

Tony picked it up and studied it very carefully.

“How much?”

“Ten thousand pounds Sir.”

“I shall give you five.  That’s my final offer.”

“I am sorry Sir, but the policy at Frampton and Frampton is after careful inspection and consideration, the price awarded to any item is the final price.  There is no further negotiation of the price.  Ten thousand pounds is the price Sir.”

After ten minutes of discussion Tony, started too loose patience. “Look I shall make out a cheque for you right now for five thousand pounds and leave it with you.  Take it or leave it.  I shall date my cheque for next Friday.  That should give you enough time to think about it, then cash the cheque.”  With that, they left.

On the following Monday, Monica was having lunch with Enrico, the Charges d’affaires of the Spanish Embassy, an old and close friend.

“So my dear Monica. I see that your birthday is only a few weeks away.  Have you decided what you would like?”

Monica flashed her eyes at him. “Enrico, you are such a dear. I have actually.  After lunch if you like I can show you.”

Enrico smiles and raised his glass to her. “My dear, it will be an honour.

That afternoon, Enrico and Monica were greeted at the heavy door of Frampton and Frampton; shown into the viewing room where Robert showed him the necklace.  Enrico studied it for a few minutes, then turned to Robert.

“It is a beautiful piece, but not worth ten thousand pounds my friend.  I shall give you five thousand pounds for it.”

Robert went through the same arguments that Tony had, but Robert would not move.

“I shall write a cheque this moment for you for five thousand pounds.  Take it, or you may leave it.  The decision is yours. 

Robert asked Enrico to wait whilst he said he was going to speak to head office.  Five minutes later, he returned and nodded.

“Sir I have been advised by my head office that I should accept your cheque of five thousand pounds.”

As Enrico was ushered into the inner office to complete the transaction and provide his cheque, Robert quietly moved over to the counter and started to wrap the necklace in front of Monica.

When he had finished, he slid the package across the counter.  At that moment their eyes met.

“Well Monica Holingsworth, I congratulate you on acquiring such a beautiful neckless for ten thousand pounds.  I do hope you’ll enjoy wearing it.”  He paused for a second, smiled and quietly said, “Well done Luv.”

Copyright Bob French