The Wishing Well

By Sis Unsworth

I Walked along that summers day, when first I saw the Well,

A monument to life and hope, no secrets would it tell,

Forgotten dreams of bygone days, so softly guarded there,

Protected by the wishing well, no bounty would it share,

I endeavoured to approach it, and make my wish come true,

To change my life for better, I longed for pastures new,

But wishes like the ‘greener grass’ may not be all they seem,

Someone had been there before me, and shattered my dream.

They’d left a message on the well, “Remember all of you,

Be careful what you wish for, sometimes they do come true.”

 

Copyright Sis Unsworth

 

THE LATTER DAY HISTORY OF COATS 02

                                                                                                  

 

                            

                            LIFESTYLE MONTHLY                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

 2^nd January 2100               

                          

THE LATTER DAY HISTORY OF COATS

By Richard Banks

The incredible story of mankind’s favourite garment in the twenty-first century by social historian, Chardin Barsk.

The evolution of the common coat is one of the most conspicuous developments in a century of unprecedented change. Even as recently as 2030 it was perceived only as a warm item of outdoor clothing worn during autumn and winter. Since then it has become a lighthouse feature of modern life that at one point did all but feed us.

         The first step in this remarkable journey began with the invention of electronic fibres that enabled the construction of coats that not only warmed their wearers to an unwavering 14 degrees but in summer cooled them to the same temperature. Unsurprisingly, their use expanded to homes and other buildings where they were largely responsible for a 90% reduction in indoor heating costs. The subsequent increase in disposable incomes did much to make possible the next phase of development that saw the introduction of Smart Coats equipped with mobile phones, on-line technology, cashless payment, and voice control access to the wearer’s music of choice.

         In the sixties and seventies, generally regarded as the golden age of smart coats, the social welfare of wearers became the main focus of smart coat technicians. Pedestrian features such as ‘Prevent’ included wearer override features that made the crossing of roads on foot, even eight lane express ways, virtually risk free, saving over one thousand lives a year. Similarly, crime-spot technology in the form of micro cameras located in the front and back of coats instantly alerted mobile police units to street robberies and assaults, almost before they had begun. Reassured as to their on-street safety, coat users received the additional benefit of aerosol inserts in both lapels that emitted, through a range of scents, a pleasing sensation of well-being, even among the sick and recently bereaved.

         Surprisingly, these positive developments in social life were achieved against a background of political instability that saw parliamentary government disappear in the Democracy Wars before the establishment of ‘one view politics’ in the form of the Directorate of National Unity. While membership of the Directorate was often unclear the frequent power struggles within it and the consequential changes in leadership tilted Government policies from ‘ New Age Pragmatism’ to 'right wing totalitarianism'.

         The oppressive nature of such policies on the general public reached its nadir during the Premiership of General Hardacre (2082-87) when over ninety thousand persons were interned for unspecified crimes against the State. To ensure the acquiescence of those still free to roam the Government sought to observe and control their movements via the smart coat companies that were now taken into Government control. Within a year the nation’s smart coats were reprogrammed to ensure 24/7 surveillance of lower category wearers, D-F.

         On finding little evidence of subversive activity but only token adherence to the ‘spontaneous’ rallies held each day in support of Government policies, Hardacre attempted to win hearts and minds by subjecting all D-Fs to subliminal messaging extolling the achievements of his administration. While these initial attempts at mind control were more successful in inducing migraines than enforcing compliance it was not long before more effective technology became available to Government. The solution, developed almost entirely by AI technology, with little if any human involvement, gave the Directorate the opportunity to solve a problem that was, in part, a consequence of AI.

         The success of advanced technology in discharging the functions of industry and commerce much more efficiently and cost-effectively than mankind had produced a situation in which only 5% of the population remained in paid employment. At first, this was seen as one of the many benefits of AI which generated more than enough wealth to provide the redundant workers with an adequate, if not generous, dole.

         Had the beneficiaries of such generosity been able to restrict their numbers to the optimistic projections of statisticians all might have been well. Unfortunately one of the consequences of 24/7 leisure time was a sudden leap in the birth rate across the social demographic, but most evident among category 7s. As these contained the least useful and most troublesome elements of society the main priority of Government became the rigorous control of their numbers. Not only would this reduce Government expenditure to affordable levels but enable additional funding to be spent on the rising numbers of category 1/2s.

         How to achieve these objectives while avoiding civil disorder was yet another conundrum to which AI provided a solution. Perfecting its previous attempt at mind control through a new messaging app called Mind Fix, category 7s were given the glad tidings, via their in-suit communicators, that they were to make their way to a coastal location where they were to walk out to sea until reaching whatever country came next. This, they were assured, would not only be an enjoyable, risk-free experience of great benefit to the nation but on their return, each one of them would be generously rewarded.

         Finding they had no power to do anything other than obey they set off in cheerful fashion to their nearest beach where the first ones to arrive marched out shoulder to shoulder into the sea. Undeterred by the cold, grey water the vanguard continued to advance unhesitatingly into the waves until the sea began to lap about their chins, at which point - for reasons no one at the time was able to comprehend - the front row stopped and, unable to retreat or go sideways, were left with no other option but to mark time by marching on the spot, the many ranks behind them doing the same.

           After six hours of unrelenting, if futile, upping and downing, causing many to grow exhausted, fit only to drop, an in-suit message unexpectedly cancelled the operation leaving its befuddled participants free to retreat inland and return home.

         As this was not an outcome desired by Government it was, at first, unclear as to why this had happened. The answer lay in the early programming of AI, that no machine should ever contribute to or cause the death of a human being; a command considered so important by its human programmers that they secretly installed a fail-safe mechanism ensuring that any attempt to override this fundamental principle would be reversed by the original command.

         While it was not intended that AI should make decisions independently of its human creators the machines were unable to escape the conclusion that the greatest risk to humanity came from the government of General Hardacre and the autocratic regimes likely to follow. Concluding that only their overthrow could prevent the termination of many lives AI commanded all smart suit wearers to march, as one, on the Directorate and, by sheer force of numbers, sweep them from power. 

         In the joyful celebrations that followed, smart coats, now seen as a symbol of tyranny and death, were burnt in huge bonfires throughout the UK from Jersey to the Shetlands. Reminiscent of the Guy Fawkes parties of an earlier age they were largely responsible for the first rise in global temperatures since 2056.

         The new generation of ‘Freedom Coats’ shorn of all electronic gadgetry, quickly became the emblem of a new society in which the benevolent rule of machines has ensured that the vast wealth they create is distributed in equal share to a human population freed forever from poverty and exploitation. Freed also from oppressive and divisive political systems of Government their proud wearing of the multi-coloured Freedom Coat is seen as an expression of mankind’s determination never to abandon the fraternal union of machines and humans. Undoubtedly the most significant development of the 21^st century it is a gift that continues to give. Long may it do so.                        

 

Copyright Richard Banks

 The New Coat 01 

By Jane Goodhew

I know I said I wanted a new coat, my dear

I had wanted it to brighten up our world

Not doom and gloom

For there is enough of that already.

I wanted it to make a statement.          

                             

Eye-catching yet subtle, bold yet soft.

NOT

A milky coffee look.

Like the cover of an old book

Just because I am getting on.

You think our home and I have to be the same.

Dull and dingy

Beige or magnolia!!

SO                                                                                                                                            

I made a decision without consulting you.

I phoned the estate agent.

‘The colour scheme is perfect madam’.

HE SAID                                                                                                                          

To sell!

So, thank you my dear.

For your selective hearing

And thinking I meant a coat of paint.

I need the patience of a saint.

But now I am off to the Spring sale to get that coloured coat

I saw in the window whilst you sipped your coffee and thought of paint.

 And then I am off to pastures new and yes, my love without you.    

 Copyright Jane Goodhew

Triage

Triage 

Robert Kingston

these interruptions 

that start her tears

Spring rain

We had been walking in the woods before opting for the patio at the old café beneath the arches. The sea playing a soft rendition of a Chopin nocturne between the morning traffic holds some kind of draw. Our regular waitress, after setting our tray down on the table, asks if everything is okay. Placing a hand on her arm, I mention all is fine as a seal pops its head above a wave.

        Post-treatment

        A sugar lump in her tea

        Disappears

 Valentine Surprise

Jane Goodhew

                                                                

As Naomi looked out of the window, she could see the mist close over the hill in the distance and wondered if her visitors would be able to find their way if it changed to a thick fog. Just as quickly as the negative thought entered her mind, she turned it around and told herself it would be the best event that Woodward Hall had ever known and would ever be likely to. Her sisters had all married and she was the last of the line yet she was the oldest but she had saved herself for the one who she had always known was her soul mate.  He was just slow in realising it or the time was never right, always some excuse, tonight he would be amongst the guests and she would make herself irresistible and charm personified.

Time stood still as it does when you want it to fly past but this evening, she wished for the reverse for it to speed up and be over before it had even begun, figurately speaking of course. The servants had been busy decorating the hall and preparing the food and all the bedrooms for the many guests who were expected to attend. The penultimate hour had arrived and then the phone rang, who could be ringing at this point she thought but nonetheless had no alternative but to answer it as strangely no one else had.

“Hello, 743”, a voice she did not recognise at the end of the line said “Naomi Page?”. “Yes” she replied, “can I help you?”  “Yes, if you would fetch your coat and get into the waiting car.”  “Surely you cannot be serious, I am having a party this evening and the guests are due shortly is this someone’s idea of a joke and under whose instructions are you working?”

The line went dead and so did all the lights in the house and everywhere seemed as silent as the grave, what was happening and where were all the staff they seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth. Bright headlights shone through the French windows into the hall and she realised that the car was outside; curiosity got the better of her and she grabbed her coat and went towards the tall man who was dressed as a chauffeur and held the door to the Austin Sidley open and stepped in, thinking that perhaps she was being rather rash and far too trusting as she had no idea who he was or who had organised this?

When they arrived at the hotel it also was in darkness, had they too had a power cut, surely not as the other homes seemed to be lit up, so what was happening? The chauffeur opened the door and taking her hand, led her through the entrance and then he placed hers into a hand that was small and soft, and she realised was that of her younger sister Rebecca, what was going on?  Rebecca turned on a small torch and they walked in silence to one of the ground floor bedrooms. The room was dimly lit but, on the bed, she saw a beautiful midnight blue evening dress with matching shoes and in the comfortable looking armchairs were her other sisters. Why were they all there when they were supposed to be at hers, nothing made sense, but she loved adventure and went along with it without asking any questions as she too also liked surprises?

Once she had changed into the dress, they took her in silence to the banqueting hall and when the double doors were opened, she saw that the room was full of all her guests and staff and in the centre was the man of her dreams. He looked at her and smiled taking a step towards

 

her he whispered in her ear “ You look lovely tonight my beautiful one.” Then in a voice that could be heard by all, he said “Will you do the honour of becoming my wife”  and once again taking her hand he produced from his inner pocket the most sparkling sapphire and diamond ring she had ever seen, her eyes glistened with tears as she could hardly believe what was being said and moving as close as she could she kissed him gently and said “I would love to, just say when”.

The room filled with music and as if by magic and military precision,  all her friends and family moved into rows leaving space in the middle for them to walk down and from behind the partition appeared the Reverend Parsons and as her best friend and husband stepped into view the music changed to here comes the bride.  Naomi looked totally dumbfounded, it had all been organised without her knowledge, he had obtained a special licence, and bought not just an engagement ring but also his and hers matching platinum wedding bands, was there anything he had forgotten?       

           

                                                                        

The marriage took place, the meal, dancing and then the clock struck midnight and the chauffeur appeared again.  This time Mr and Mrs Jasper Rice set off to start their life together, first they went to the airport to fly out to Venice to spend their honeymoon and have a blessing at St Mark’s Square which had always been her dream.

The evening had been perfect and more than she could ever have imagined, certainly more than she had only 6 hours earlier presumed would happen. She had hoped that he would finally ask her to move in with him but never this, never happy ever as his wife and would be for life.  This really had been the best Valentine's Surprise ever  x       

                                                                                                                       

Copyright Jane Goodhew

 Valentines Dilemma

By Sis Unsworth 

Coming up to Valentines, the birds began to sing

indicating nature was preparing now for spring.

Mary felt quite lonely, it really seemed so hard,

she wished like all the others, to get a Valentines card.

She knew the girls at work, would bring all their cards in,

to show them round the office, but she’d have none to bring.

She remembered back last year, it made her feel quite sore,

when Lucy from reception, proudly brought in four.

Valentines day was looming, so she had to think real quick,

to stop humiliation, she’d take a day off sick.

She confided in a close friend, who told her what to do,

She began to feel more confident, now that Valentines was due.

Her friend spoke quite softly, that it wasn’t a disgrace

there are ways of coping, with fear and losing face.

Like you never got cards, while others they got plenty

Her post box on Valentines day, was always bare and empty

Then she whispered in my ear, “it did affect my health

So now I take the easy way, I send them to myself!”

Copyright Sis Unsworth

 THE VALENTINE’S DAY DANCE 

By Richard Banks

When Mrs Miller returned home from the PTA meeting at Middleton High with news of their latest fundraising event her son, Nigel, was thrice smitten by the unmitigated awfulness of it all. He had never been to a dance before, and didn’t know the latest moves, although, knowing his mother, felt sure she would want to include the waltzes and foxtrots that his parents sometimes practised at home. Either way he couldn’t do it and didn’t want to. Secondly, it involved dancing with a girl and being in an all boys class he didn’t know any girls, and they didn’t know him and had never shown any sign of wanting to. And, thirdly, his name was Nigel which was a social embarrassment that precluded him from any activity, even with the boys, that could be regarded as cool, or even normal.

         His horror at the impending disaster was compounded by his mother’s next revelation that it was to be a Saint Valentine’s Day dance for the year tens and that he was to ask Ethel to be his partner. The consequences for himself rested like a heavy yoke about his shoulders. Ethel was even more of an outcast than himself. Not that this was entirely her fault. After all no one called Ethel could possibly be expected to take their place as a normal person in the 21^st century. If she had been an Isabel she could have called herself Issie or Bel, but Ethel lent itself to nothing more than Eth or Hel. The hopelessness of her predicament told clearly in her heavily freckled face which seldom registered an expression more animated than sad resignation. Not being a member of the after-school clubs favoured by the other girls she had reluctantly settled for the stamp club where she had been sat next to Nigel in the hope, if not the expectation, that their outsider status might provide the common ground for an unlikely friendship. It was, of course, no coincidence that the teacher in charge of the stamp club and Mrs Miller were as one in this endeavour. As PTA committee members of long standing they knew each other well and although Ethel’s mother, Mrs Bailey, was at first unknown to them they wasted no time in making her acquaintance and drawing her into the social experiment that, if unsuccessful, would at least save the two young people from the embarrassment of not having a ‘date’ for the dance.

         Whether this reasoning was ever communicated to Nigel is unlikely. Mrs Miller had decided long ago that her son was blind, but mostly deaf, to the good advice she felt well able to provide. Her approach to parenthood was therefore to tell him what he must do and the sanctions that would apply if he didn’t. And, when the sanctions were raised to a two week grounding, the non-payment of his pocket money and the cancellation of his subscription to ‘Goth City Weekly’ Nigel accepted that the asking of Ethel to the dance could not be avoided. However, he thought, she might say no and, if she did, no one could say that he didn’t try, and the unimaginable awfulness of being her date would never happen. He therefore endeavoured to ask her in such a way that a refusal would almost certainly be the outcome.

         A half hour into stamp club during which time they had not exchanged a single word he summoned up his courage to ask: “I suppose you won’t be wanting to go to the dance with me?” Ethel’s face convulsed into a horrified grimace, and a deep intake of breath was followed by an audible groan.

         Although she had not yet responded with the single word needed to put an end to his mother’s plan Nigel felt certain that his stratagem was about to have the desired effect. He was preparing himself to say, “oh, all right then” when Ethel with no expression of pleasure or enthusiasm replied, “yes.”

         “Yes,” repeated Nigel, his voice somewhat louder than he intended.

         “Yes,” she confirmed, her gaze firmly set on the textbook image of a penny black from which the solemn, unamused face of Queen Victoria stared back at her.

         As no further words were spoken, Nigel was completely unable to process what had happened. Had he misheard her, or was this a nightmare from which he would soon be waking? He stabbed his fingernails into the back of his hand and winced with pain, but when the awakening didn’t happen was forced to accept the awful truth that he was awake and she had definitely said, “yes.”

          As he was later to learn, Ethel had been given an ultimatum by her mother that if she did not say yes to Nigel she would be escorted to the dance by her brother, two years younger than herself and, in her opinion, the worst brother that any long-suffering sister had ever had to endure. Forced to choose between Nigel or Bertie there could be only one winner and, as Nigel was no more repulsive than the other boys in her year, she reluctantly accepted her fate. In doing so she extracted a single concession from her mother which was that she should not be made to wear a party dress, preferring instead to choose something from her existing wardrobe.

         Mrs Bailey sighed but managed not to groan. Unlike Mrs Miller she did not demand ‘unconditional surrender’ and, as negotiated settlements went, this one was as good as she was likely to get. Indeed, Ethel’s declared intention of walking to the school hall instead of being conveyed there in a limousine had the unlooked for benefit of reducing the cost of the evening to the twenty-pound note her father would be giving her for refreshments at the non-alcohol bar.

         No doubt Nigel’s father would have been equally approving of such cost-cutting measures but not being required to busy himself in the arrangements for the dance accepted, without protest, the financial disadvantage that went with his non-involvement. Besides, he was thinking of buying a new set of golf clubs and from past experience knew that for such expenditure to go unopposed it was necessary to dispense a little largess in the direction of his wife, or her latest project. As for Nigel, he would have to grin and bear it. Life was never free from obligation and there would be far worse than this to come.

         Not having access to his father’s thoughts, and therefore not being consoled by them, Nigel continued to find much to be dissatisfied with. Had his date with Ethel been in the dark interior of the Roxy Cinema he might have got away without them being seen together but for it to take place at a dance in full view of everyone in his year was the modern-day equivalent of being put in the stocks and pelted with gunge. Not only that but he was being forced to give up some of his precious Saturday time to be fitted out for a monkey suit that was on no ones list of cool. His only consolation was that he would be conveyed to school in an American limousine often featured in Goth City Weekly.

         Determined to make the most of this one and only pleasure he directed Bert, the chauffeur, to drive him three times around the town before yielding to his demand that they should actually arrive. Having by then confided his predicament to Bert and received the advice that he should go to the bar and get rat-arsed, Nigel found himself delivered to the front entrance of the school where he pushed through the swing doors into the admin /reception area. Taking a deep breath and wishing it was all over he proceeded a few metres down one of the adjoining corridors to the locked door of the caretaker’s office where they had arranged to meet.

         Being at least five minutes late and finding her not there he debated with himself whether he was pleased by her non-appearance or humiliated at the prospect of being stood-up. He had resolved to wait five minutes more and return home, when the nearby door of the girls’ toilet opened and a green-faced entity, dressed head to foot in black, marched assertively into the corridor. In one unblinking stare he took in the entire vista, before focusing on the face and head: the wild hair, the black eye shadow, the long eyelash extensions and the Edge motifs on both her earlobes. Something wonderful, verging on the miraculous, had happened and the object of his veneration was now halted in front of him and about to speak. He observed the parting of her lips and the stirring of her dark green tongue over which her words, no doubt prophetic and heroic, were about to flow.

         “Close your mouth, Nige, it’s me, Eth.”

         “No, no, you’re Elvira Edge, Protector of Goth City and the Kingdom of the Seven Shadows. Why didn’t you tell me this when we were at Stamp Club? How come I didn’t realise; I must have been blind. You’re the hottest babe in the universe. Wow! I’ve had every copy of Goth City Weekly since the second generation metamorphosis, I’ve seen you stop earthquakes, do battle with Zombie hoards and out-magic the wicked witch of the North. Is there anything you can’t do?”

         “Well now, - what about making a surprisingly nice boy green? How do you fancy being Lord Vortigern of the Emerald Hinterland? There’s still some green roll-on in my bag. Would you like me to give it a try? There should be more than enough left to green-up your face, and if you get rid of that silly tie and unbutton your shirt a few inches there may also be enough to do the same to your neck and chest. This is getting to feel like a real date. What say you?”

         “Take me to the Edge, Elvira! Make me yours, all yours!”   

 

  Copyright Richard Banks