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Friday, 22 December 2023

Miracle Child

 Miracle Child

By Len Morgan

At a time when women were shorter than men, shy, pretty, and demure, Ivy Melsom was none of these.  She was 6’ 2”, a plain, slim, swarthy, woman with four redeeming features. She had kind brown eyes that drew people in; she was a shrewd businesswoman and a good judge of character.  She owned and ran a successful General Store and when times were hard she knew who she could extend credit to, which endeared her to her neighbours.   

  But, what she most desired in all the world was a child of her own. At 54 she knew she was long past childbearing but she retained her hope and prayed.

.-…-. 

Michael Cambell owned a truck in which he hauled goods and disposed of rubbish.  He also worked on building sites, did odd jobs, anything to buy a few pints.  At 42 he employed his good-natured blarney to get work, or to charm the pants off of women.  He was homeless by choice but seldom slept on the streets or in his truck.  His Irish charm always seemed to get him a bed for the night; sometimes with willing female company.  He moved around the country, often with regular stopovers where he was sure of creature comforts. 

.-…-. 

Patrick Cambell, Michael's son, possibly the result of one of his many dalliances was 10 years old; old beyond his years. He had become the ace up his father's sleeve.  More so now that Mick was on the wrong side of forty, Patrick became his foot in the door.  Sympathy was just one of the many tricks he used to gain entry into the lives of unsuspecting women.

.-…-. 

And so it was that young Patrick was delivering fliers advertising his father's business.  He entered the ‘Melsom Emporium’ and delivered a flier, then on his way out he snatched a couple of mars bars. 

Ivy saw it and grabbed his arm.  “That will be a shilling or, you could work it off?” 

“What would ye be wantin of me missus?”

“Well, in my backyard, there's a pile of rubbish that needs moving outside the back gate.”

“Sure I’ll do dat fer ye missus…”

“My name is Ivy, call me Aunt Ivy, or just Aunty.”

“I’m Patrick, Da calls me Paddy, aunty Ivy.” He held out a grubby hand, she was surprised at his politeness but shook it anyway. She led him out back and undid the latch on the gate, half expecting him to run…  But he began picking up the boxes and carrying them out the gate forming a neat pile. 

“Are you hungry Pat?” 

“Famished. I scrumped some apples on me way here but dey wuz cookers sour as lemons, urgh!” 


Ivy smiled, “Did your Dad not give you breakfast?” 

“Nah he says workin on a full stomach makes ye lazy.”

“Well, we can soon fix that my lad.  Finnish up out here and be sure to lock the gate. I’ll see what I can rustle up.  Do you like eggs bacon and crusty buttered rolls?” She smiled when she saw the hungry look in his eyes. “Wash your hands at the sink, don’t want you catching food poisoning…” she hurried back inside and set a table for two. 

“Thanks, Aunty, dat was scrummy…” he was interrupted by the jingle of an old school bell, “Dats Mick me Da, drummin up business. He’ll take your rubbish to the tip fer a few shillins?” 

“Go call him over, then you’d best get off to school.”

“Uh?  I don’t go to no school, me an Mick belong to da University of life.”  He left the shop to hail the truck.

“Where’ve ye bin Paddy, I’ve had to drive as well as ring da bell …”  Ivy followed him out to the storefront. 

“Aunt Ivy has a pile dat needs shiftin Mick.”

“Aunt Ivy is it?  Mmm, dats quite a pile ye have der miss-aunt Ivy if I may be so bold.  I’d say ooh ten bob…” 

“Well, Mick you’re a businessman like myself, with a family to feed?  So I’ll make you an offer.  Five bob to take it to the tip; won’t take more than a thimble full of petrol or half an hour of your time.” 

“Ah! You’re a hard woman,” he spat in his right palm and offered his hand. She shook her head and smiled. 

“Right, get it onto the truck Paddy, then ye can take de bell.”

At that moment two customers arrived, so Ivy handed Mick two half-crowns and followed her customers into the store. 

.-…-.

A few days later, at nine o’clock on a cold drizzly evening. just as Ivy was closing up, Pat entered the store. “Ten Senior Service please Auntie,” he said offering her a ten bob note, then seeing the look on her face said,  “Dey’re fer Mick, not me.”

“I should think not, you’re far too young to be smoking.”

“Would ye know of a nearby lodgin house aunty?  We need somewhere to stay…”

“Open the back gates and tell him to drive his lorry in, it’s much too late to be knocking on doors, I have a spare room.  You can stay here for the night.” 

“Thank you, Aunty.”  While Pat let Mick in she finished locking up.

“Tanks missus, you're full of de milk-o-human-kindness,” Mick began… 

“It’s only for one night you understand?”

“Oh, we do, Dat’s grand.” 

I’ll show you to the room, but there’s only one bed so you’ll have to share, and no smoking.” 

“It’ll beat our leakin cab on a night like dis, so it will.” 

“I’m up at six to open the store, I have breakfast at seven so I’ll want you out by eight, don’t want tongues wagging.”

.-…-. 

The alarm clock went off at six, Ivy got up, and Mick stirred beside her.  “Come along Mick time to get up!  Patrick starts school today and I don’t want him to be late. You’ve been here a month now, so you should know the routine.  You came in at eleven last night, drunk as a Lord and you woke us both up…” 

“I was totin fer business, and I got offered a job fer six months makin' muck at a site in Barnsley, So Paddy will not be goin ta school here in Barkin, he’ll be comin wi-me!”

“ I think Patrick is old enough to make his own mind up about that…” 

“Make me mind up bout what?” 

“We’re movin to Barnsley, I got a job der, so ye can ferget about schoolin!”

Pat looked at Ivy, and at the new school uniform she'd purchased, “I’m stayin here wi Aunt Ivy, if she’ll have me? ye can go to Barnley or Timbuktu if ye like, I'm stayin!” 

“She’s not your Aunt ye know, she’s nothing to ye Paddy, I’m yer Da…”

“Are you?” Ivy asked, “so, where’s his mother?”

“She’s dead!  Died in childbirth halfway down the A1, she thumbed a lift then went into labour beside the road.  I ran to a call box, the amberlance arrived half hour later, took her to the hospital, and I followed em…”

“So do you have his birth certificate?  Did you even register his birth?” 

“No…” Mick said stony-faced. He dressed, packed his grip, and stormed out of the store, without saying another word. He grabbed a box of two hundred cigarettes, and a bottle of whiskey as he went! His truck roared off in a cloud of exhaust fumes, Neither to be seen or heard from again…

.-…-. 

Seven years later Patrick Melsom received 6 ‘A’ grade GCE passes and his application for a place at Oxford has been accepted.

“I’m so proud of you son, you came into my life as if in answer to a prayer,” said Ivy.

“Thanks, Mum, what I’ve accomplished is all down to you.  I could never repay you for what you’ve given me.”  He put his arms around her and gave her a hug.  

She smiled through her happy tears and squeezed him affectionately, 'my miracle child' she thought.

Copyright Len Morgan 

Tuesday, 19 December 2023

Riddles 09

Riddles 09

 

By the Riddler


 

The Riddler has two puzzles for us today:

 

No 1. Multiply all the numbers on you phone.  What is the total?  

 

No 2.  3 1 2 8 ? 5 2 ?  What Number is missing?

 

                                                                                                         Keep em coming Riddler 

Monday, 18 December 2023

A few more haiku

 A few more haiku  (read at last meeting)

Have a lovely Christmas and a happy new year everybody.

From Rob Kingston

 

world famine

the billionaire’s loose change

rattles the bucket

 

bee hive

each cell

its own summer

 

Blithe spirit, Museum of literature award (runner up) December 2023 

post football

rain soaked scars all over

the pitch

 

And one for Christmas. 

Christmas morning 

a trail of paper follows 

the dog

 

Sunday, 17 December 2023

THE HAUNTED HOUSE 2

 THE HAUNTED HOUSE 2

By Bob French 


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 street lamp 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?" 

“I don’t know, but let’s get inside out of this cold.”

As they approached the front door, it suddenly creaked open, causing them to stop.

After a while, they slowly climbed the steps into the dark interior of the house. The sound of the door slamming behind them sounded like thunder.

“Oh God John! what the hell is going on?”

They stood perfectly still allowing the dank smell of age to surround them. 

A door slammed up-stairs causing them to jump.

“Come on Brenda, we have to find out who’s in here?”

Holding hands, they hurried up the stairs and along a dark corridor.

“Look!” At the far end of the corridor, a dim light shone under the door.

The silence was shattered as the muffled sound of several police and ambulance sirens sounded outside.

Then the door at the end of the corridor slowly opened allowing a faint light to illuminate a figure that moved forward them.

“John, Brenda, welcome.  We have been waiting for you.”  The figure seemed to fade back into the door.

John and Brenda followed it until they became aware of others in the room.

“Dad, Mum, Uncle Bill, Aunty Milly. What are you doing here?”  Then he heard Brenda gasp, “Mummy, oh my god, Mummy.” 

A hundred yards up the road from the old Victorian house the emergency services were surrounding a badly smashed up BMW which had left the road at speed.  A Medic approached the police sergeant.

“Sorry, but they are both dead.  They were John and Brenda Coventry from Billericay.

 

Copyright Bob French

Wednesday, 13 December 2023

How Much Do I Love Thee

 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...

Monday, 4 December 2023

The Haunted House 1

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

 

                                                              

Saturday, 2 December 2023

Fortune Cookies

 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 13th 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