MY NEW COAT

 MY NEW COAT

By Bob French

It was the best of times, as Christmas was just around the corner.  It was the worst of times, as the bitter cold winter had already taken the frail and infirm.  It was a time of fear and betrayal for those who lived on the edge of society, it was a time of personal endeavors to survive through to the Spring. 

The ice-cold winds that swept the dirty and empty streets of Canning Town in east London in late November 1879, bore no favours to those who lived in the gutters. 

Jimmy sat huddled in the corner of a shop door-way trying to keep warm. His body ached as the cold had already bitten deep into his bones causing him to worry that this would be his last year.

The clear night sky above his head was very slowly heralding a new day. Yet, he knew, if he didn’t get across to Harvey’s the baker on Wellington Street, there would be no handouts left, and he would have to get through the day on an empty stomach.

He hated this time of the day, when the peace and tranquility which surrounded him would be shattered as the world awoke, and the ritual of lighting fires would quickly contaminate the air with foul, stinking and choaking smoke that hung in between the slum dwellings of Canning Town, igniting his hacking cough.  

As he moved from shadow to shadow towards Harvey’s, he noticed other people moving in the same direction and tried to increase his pace, but found the effort too much.

His dirty and tired face grinned as he realized that in the next few minutes, he would hopefully meet up with the last of his friends he had made at the Crompton Street Work House.

He always looked back on the days he had spent in the work house; they were harsh and brutal, but he had made friends with six other kids and together they looked after each other, until that day, not a year past, when Old Biggins, the warden, had called out their names at morning assembly and told them that they were to leave the work house the following morning, to make their way in the world. Alice had asked him why, and was told that we had all reached the age of sixteen and were no longer the responsibility of the work house.

As the huge wooden doors slammed behind them, Jimmy tried to raise the spirits of his friends, telling them to trust no one and keep dry and safe. He reminded them of their pact they had made the night before; to try and meet up at Harvey’s Bakery on Wellington Street early in the morning on the last day of each month for a free handout.

Then, very slowly, they hugged each other and one by one, they slowly made their way down the steps and into town.  Jimmy had taken off his coat and given it to Humf, warning him to keep warm and dry.  As Alice waved to Billy as he turned the corner and vanished, she spoke softly to Jimmy.

“That was kind of you Jimmy, but you’ll need to get yourself a coat.”

“I’ll be alright.  Humf needed it more than I did.”

Alice smiled. It’s just me and you now Jimmy. I wonder how many will make it to next Christmas?”

They had decided to stick together, but a furious argument caused Alice to go her own way at the end of Summer. As much as Jimmy had tried to warn her about the dangers of a young girl on the streets, she ignored him and left.

It had been a while since he had made it to Harvey’s, and he was pleased to see two of his friends ahead of him in the queue; Billy, who had managed to get a job in the stables of the King’s Head tavern, and Josey, who with her good looks and confidence had found a job as a scullery Maid in one of the big houses out East Barking way. As they chatted, Jimmy caught sight of Alice at the head of the queue. She still wore the pink cardigan he had given her last summer and called out to her, but she ignored him.

His attention was drawn back to Josey, who told him that Humf had passed away within three months due to his bad cough, and Jill, who was a frail little thing, had died within a month of leaving the work house.  It was Billy who told Jimmy and Josey that Alfy, with his limp and stutter, was found face down in the river and that Alice had fallen in with a bad crowd.

Jimmy asked where she worked, but Billy didn’t know for sure.  He thought she worked down near the docks. 

Once they had thanked old man Harvey for his kindness, they hugged each other, then left, agreeing to meet up at the end of November. Jimmy felt lifted by the meeting as he made his way back to his manor, and promised himself that he would look-up Alice before Christmas.

Dawn was gradually making an appearance as he turned down a narrow ally way.  Suddenly he stumbled over something and knelt to see what it was. 

As he did, it groaned and he knew that whoever it was had just come away from Harvey’s.  It was the old trick.  Watch the queue for anyone who looked weak, then wait until they had picked up their hand out, then jump them in an alley and steal everything of value, including their bread. As he turned the body over, he realized who he was looking down at.

“Alice!  God! are you alright?”

She just moaned again and as he lifted her head up off the damp ground.  She had been badly beaten, her shoes were gone, her fancy frock had been torn in an attempt to remove it and there was no sign of her pink cardigan or her bread.

“Jimmy love, get me back to my digs.”

“Where are they? I don’t know the way.”

“Help me up.  I’ll show you.”

Jimmy threw her arm over his shoulder and staggered off towards the docks.  As they reached the start of the docks area, she pointed to a large tavern.

“Over there Jimmy.”  As he lifted her up again and started to move towards the tavern, a couple of rough looking men appeared out of nowhere.

“What’s goin’ on ‘ere then mate?”

As Jimmy turned to face the two men, Alice called out.

“Harold. I’ve been turned over.  They took everything.”

Before Jimmy could take in what was happening, one of the men hit him hard in the face.  When Jimmy came too, Alice and the man who had hit him, were kneeling over him.

“You alright lad? Sorry about that. Alice has explained everything. Come on let’s have you up.”

They took Jimmy into the tavern where he was given a drink.  Alice sat with him until she felt that he was alright to make his way back up to Canning Town. 

She was concerned about him.  She could see that he had lost a lot of weight and when she took his hands, they were ice cold.

“Look love, you ain’t taking care o’ yerself are ya.”

Jimmy nodded. Just then the man who had hit Jimmy appeared with a plate of freshly cooked bacon, eggs and toast.

“’Ere lad, get this down you.  Want another drink?”

Jimmy and Alice sat in the warm tavern for over an hour before the man returned and winked at Alice.  It was time for him to go.

“Alice love, pop up stairs to Martha. She’ll give you a new set of clothes.” Then he turned to Jimmy.

“Here lad.  Try this for size,” and handed Jimmy a long woolen overcoat. 

Without a second thought, Jimmy stood, tried on the coat, then turned, smiled at the man. 

“Thank you, Sir.  That’s very kind of you.”

The man stood and stared at Jimmy for a while, then smiled, pulled out a pound note and handed it to Jimmy.

“Thank you for taking care of our Alice.”

As Jimmy slowly made his way back over to Canning Town, it started to rain, but he didn’t mind.  His new coat kept him warm and he had enough money to feed himself until Christmas, when he would meet up with Alice again, and maybe Billy and Josey.

 Copyright Bob French

 Riddles 14

 

By the Riddler

 

The Riddler say's are you any good at arithmetic?  He has two puzzles for us today:

 

No 1.  2(10+16/2x8) = ? answer is:

                                                    (22,148,208,2240,?)

 

No 2.  What shape comes next ?:

                

Keep em coming Riddler

 

 Acrophobia

By Jane Goodhew

Today was important but I was not sure if I could go through with it as ever since I was a small child, I had had an irrational fear of having my feet anywhere other than on the ground. Okay, that was a slight exaggeration as I did not sleep on the floor and I travelled by plane to lands far afield, as far as New Zealand and Raratonga so I had been high, high above the clouds and no harm had befallen me. This was different, I would not be seated in a tin can with a seat belt around me and people to talk to or ignore depending on my mood and theirs.

 

                               

        

 

I had accepted a new position and foolishly had not done my homework first for if I had I would most certainly have said a distinct NO! It was too late now for I had signed on the dotted line and there was no turning back as I had worked all my life to get this job. To get to the top of the ladder figuratively speaking, which was the irony of it all. Once I had found out that the office was on the 72^nd floor and I had panoramic views across the whole of the city as it was mainly glass, I went straight into panic mode.  The room span, I felt sick and could not think about anything but trying to breathe and not just drop dead there and then. I took deep breaths and concentrated on my feet so that I could at least feel the ground beneath them. I tried to remember all that I had been taught over the years of therapy as I had not wanted to take medication and become addicted to a pill when the fear was in my mind therefore under my control. I sometimes wonder about that when I struggle just to survive without everyone noticing what is happening to me. When friends tell me not to be so silly and just get there, get on with it, and enjoy the fantastic views that most people would die for! All the rewards that come with being top dog in such a prestigious firm.  That was exactly what was wrong with me, I felt as if I would die and how would that look in the middle of a board meeting?

Shaking like a leaf on a tree in a storm, like a jellyfish in the shallow water having been thrown by a large wave. My eyes well up with tears as the fear takes grip and no matter how much I try to rationalize it just the thought is enough to put me into a state of panic.

 

I sit down and talk to myself as if I were a simple child, I think of , what do I think, that’s just it I can’t think, all I can do is put my head in my hands and wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole.    I try to imagine I am free, free as a bird soaring high in the sky and I can look down on the world without fear, without having a full-blown panic attack. I am free.

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright Jane Goodhew

 

                                            

Fear of Falling

 Fear of Falling

By Christopher Mathews

The alarm was set for 4:00 in the morning, but he awoke well before dawn, stirred by some inner clock. The birds had not yet risen to lay claim to their patch of the clear, summer sky.

The sweet, breathless morning air refreshed his senses, bypassing his troubled mind, he lay still, as the physical sensation of peace washed over him, his limbs restful and quiet.

For a fleeting moment his dream lingered on, tethering him to that other world, beyond the reach of his restless mind. Until inevitably wakefulness came flooding back through the touch and sight and sounds of his own remorseful day.

The nightly truce between body and mind had passed. It is said that the unquiet mind rules the waking hours like a tyrant but, in the fortunate few is deposed at night by sleep.

He had packed his gear in the car the night before. Over coffee he scrawled a note to his wife which read,

“Don’t keep dinner, don’t wait up”.

He sat in the car with the engine running, setting the destination on the satnav. It read back to him in a bright cheerful woman’s voice:

“Beachy Head, popular tourist spot, high on the white chalk cliffs of the South Downs, overlooking the English Channel, on a clear day visitors can see all the way to France”. 

But it also has a darker reputation, not mentioned in the tourist guidebooks. These visitors only tell their story in brief scrawled notes.

He pushed such thoughts to the back of his mind and turned off the satnav. This journey should not be interrupted by the ceaseless chatter of this trivial world.

The roads were empty as the moonlight, low in the sky flickered through the trees lining the narrow lanes, rendering everything in its harsh, silver, ribbons.  Like blades cutting “snicker-snack”, chasing him through the landscape. He thought how different this was from his daily commutes battling with traffic. It was as if the roads had cleared themselves to make way for this one journey.

After an hour or so the hedgerows thinned and became open fields for the last two miles. The moonlight was now soft and gentle like snow on the rolling fields.

“Almost there, he thought, not long left”.

Past the last slumbering village and approaching the Seven Sisters, he now turned east toward his destination, the highest point of the cliff looking down on the Beachey Head lighthouse, caught between night and day, moonlight and the soft glow of the pre-dawn morning. He thought absurdly how the lonely lighthouse looked like a toy sitting forgotten on the beach, left behind by some giantish child who had been making sandcastles the day before.

Not bothering to lock the car he swung his pack on his back, tightened the straps, and walked, his mind fixed on the highest point of the cliff where the earth stopped, and the heavens began.

He stood right on the edge, swaying slightly as the gentle sea breeze brought the taste of brine to his lips. He fought against waves of vertigo which tingled through his limbs like electricity. Strange, how the line between the fear of falling and exhilaration is so thin. So very different but both sharing the same visceral sensation, which hijacks the mind and overpowers the senses. And still he swayed on the spot, teetering on the edge of decision.

A thin white pre-dawn mist lay over the calm dark water, diffusing the horizon between sea and sky, one vast seamless canvass. the great expanse of heaven was all about him. As if he himself was witnessing the creation of the formless world on the very first day. “Formless,” he pondered the word, a memory of a dusty bright sunlit Sunday School swam into his mind when he was eight, of opening a heavy bible which said:

“In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light.”

The cliffs below him were suddenly caught in the blaze of the rising sun as it broke the eastern horizon. like burnished gold leaf overlaying the chalk cliffs.

“And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness. And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night.”

“This is the perfect day”, he thought to himself.

As on the very first day of the world, not a soul looked on, he was quite alone. The vast sky was above him and soft dewy grass at his feet. To his right his shadow was that of a giant, but he himself felt small and insignificant.

Trembling, he said to himself,

“I don’t have the nerve to jump, the fear of falling is too strong.”

Turning, he walked deliberately back, counting out 20 paces, the prescribed distance. Gazing wistfully over the rolling green patchwork of the Sussex Downs he turned his back on England and ran fast towards the precipice. At the very edge of the world his feet danced in empty air as he leapt into nothingness; arms outstretched to embrace the vast heavens. His fear of falling was swallowed up by the joy of flying.

Then came a sudden jolt as his billowing white chute opened above him.

Base Jumping is a reckless sport, but in that brief moment he felt alive.

The strong updraft of the salty sea breeze carried him high above the cliffs. The harness of his paraglider creaked and strained to bear his weight aloft until he was well above the downs. Blacked-backed gulls joined him, taking advantage of the same thermals rising from the land. Soon he was joined by other paragliders each riding the crest of an invisible wave, which forms high above the cliff tops.

The sun was fully up now, the twilight having been banished like a bad dream. Sightseers like ants looked up at the spectacle of that strange flock which soared back and forth along the cliff.  Like a colony of latter-day pterosaurs they wheeled rising, falling and rising again. Until having reached the top of the wave they turned to make their slow descent inland.

The fear of falling, like the bleak night was swallowed up as he soared up into the clear, bright and lovely, delightful day.

© Christopher Mathews Feb. 2024

 Rory of the Rovers

By Len Morgan

For three years, Rory Miller had been the top scorer for Melchester Rovers, ever since Jason Fairfax, his friend, had been sold to Coryton United.  So, Rory became Melchester’s star player until he was callously hacked down by his ex-friend Jason in a game against Coryton United.  Rory came away with a broken leg and dislocated hip he was out of the game, flying a wheelchair for the foreseeable future.  He still attended all the training sessions and games, as a coach, encouraging the younger players, like Alan Peters who was currently wearing his No.9 shirt.

 

Peters was young, not another Rory but he was a good player and given time would be a great player.  He just needed to gain experience.  Melchester lost their next game and drew the following two.

 

Rory ran through the first game, in his mind, and dreamed it that night, with himself in Alan’s boots.  He knew exactly what had gone wrong, and gave Alan appropriate advice plus some extra training.  The next two games showed improvement but were both draws. 

 

Then came the return fixture with Coryton United.  A few nights before the game, Rory dreamed of the match.  Jason Fairfax pulled the same crippling stunt on Alan that had sidelined Rory.  He warned Alan, telling him when it was likely to happen.

 

He was on the sideline during the first half but hadn’t slept well the previous night. His wheelchair was parked in the dugout with the management team when the second half started, but he was drowsy and dozed off.

 

 He began to dream, he was on the pitch.  The right-back passed him the ball and he headed for goal; as he did so Fairfax slid in with his dangerous tackle, Rory jumped and the attack missed its target.  He shot and the ball went into the top right corner.  Alan turned to find Fairfax writhing in agony; he’d twisted his knee and pulled a hamstrung muscle.

 

The roar of the crowd woke Rory from his doze, in time to see Alan’s celebration at scoring the winning goal!

 

Later, Alan related his experience.

“It was almost as if my body had been taken over by somebody else.  When I started my run on goal, I did it exactly as Rory would have done.”

 

“Except it was you Alan, now I think the Rovers have an excellent player in my place.  I reckon I’ll have trouble winning my place back when I finally get fit,” he smiled and patted Alan on the back. “Nice one!”

 

Copyright Len Morgan

A Renku

a renku

 

from Rob Kingston

 

published in the British journal, Blithe Spirit yesterday.

 

CHILD’S HAND (Shisan)

 

nursery garden

a single cherry blossom

in the child’s hand                           rk

 

balloons

roll across the grass                        ak 

 

on the tin roof

light rain

rousts the sparrows                         db

 

that summer night more than

father would have approved              rk

 

her prince

left hugging his pillow 

dreams glass slippers                       pc

 

the hairpin bend

reveals resting tahrs                         ak 

 

behind the band shell

a clarinet

gathers dust and rust                        pc

 

fog slides in 

to join us for hors d'oeuvres              db 

 

the Man in the Moon

beams gently through

a hospice room                                 ak

 

SS Kidwelly 

still speaks of its ghosts                     rk

 

downstream

a bonfire

smokes canyon walls                          ak 

 

hieroglyphics

for decoding come morning                pc 

 

Sabaki - Linda Papanicolaou USA

rk - Robert Kingston UK

ak - Amoolya Kamalnath INDIA

db- Don Baird   USA

pc - Pris Campbell.  USA

 

  

 We Walked to School

 

By Sis Unsworth

 

Through sunny days, or rain filled sky,

dense London smog, or freezing snow,

no cars for us to travel by,

through all seasons, we would go.

 

Small girls, some dressed in ankle socks,

no matter what the weather.

Hand-knitted scarves, and homemade frocks,

we walked along together

 

Past the old canal, and market square,

with more friends, we would rally.

Through dingy streets, we would chat in pairs,

As we walked down through the alley.

 

Though our skin was chapped, by wind and cold,

this was our life, we knew no other,

Walking to school now is a thing of old,

Now it’s off in the car, with Mother.

 

Copyright Sis Unsworth