When Life take you to a Difficult place

By Jane Goodhew

 

 

When life takes you to a difficult place

Which one day it will                                                 l

Where choices seem too hard to make

Sit awhile and think so you can choose with care

Give yourself some space                                                                     

                                                                  

Do not rush where angels fear to tread

Or remain stagnant for fear or dread

Of things that may never happen

For they may drive you to tears

Your imaginary fears

 

Sometimes we need to strike whilst the iron is hot    

For a stitch in time saves nine they say

 But at others

Enter the world of make believe

To a fictional land                   

                                                                                    

To sit or lie upon the sand                                                                

And hear the waves splash upon the shore

Or be high up a hill where life seems so peaceful and still

 

Where you just watch the clouds go by

and see so many things fly high into the sky

 

Depending on the time of day

You can see

Not just changing colours but imaginary people or animals   

                              

that were once perceived as gods               

they are still there in the clouds                                

so just let your fantasies run wild

                                                                                                                                

At night, look for the moon so bright

 it will lead the way

To yet another place           

In the galaxy beyond the stars

Take your time so that you may see

Which choice to make which road to take    

 

   Copyright Jane Goodhew                                                                                           

 STOUGHT THOUGHTS

By Peter Woodgate

The pint of Guinness stood upon the table

A creamy head complete with shamrock leaves

And I was looking forward to consuming

That liquid velvet sliding down with ease.

 

When I was halfway through my Irish nectar

I stopped to think, and pondered for a while

Had I enjoyed the half consumed or would the half to come

Be relished more? This strange thought made me smile.

 

But what of life, when do the thoughts

Revert from front to back?

And all those dreams that once we had

Are simply things we lack.

 

This cunning cogitation would not leave me

And made me feel quite sad and somewhat blue

I then picked up the glass and drank the other half

Went to the bar and then drank quite a few.

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate

 Children’s Delight

Jane Goodhew

The car drove up the drive and two

little girls jumped out.                          

Their mass of red curls                                                      

bobbing up and down like a cork at sea

as they excitedly ran towards me.

                                                  

Can we see them, can we see them

Are they still here?

The fairies at the bottom of your garden

That fly through the air with colourful wings

The elves and the pixies too that swing up into the trees

And hit you with the acorns as they do like to tease.

                                    

I look at them and smile and say

They might even sit next to you one day

When you are still and don’t make much sound

 

We’ll be silent, we’ll sit still.  Won’t we they said

And they each nodded their heads

And looked with hope in their eyes

 

They are still here

If you look you’ll find

And if you listen

You may hear them                                              

Laughing and giggling

As they have such fun

Flying around in the noon day sun

Or looking for shelter when it rains

Beneath a leaf or blade of grass

The drops glisten like diamonds

On their wings

As they suddenly fly past

so fast                                           

Come along, we won’t just sit

Collect some rose petals as you go

Then we can make them beautiful dresses

And some to weave through their golden tresses

For when they go to the ball

At their friend the Toad who lives at the Hall

 

Can you see them now I say

And their look would brighten the dullest day

And how their eyes sparkle and gleam

As they realise it isn’t a dream.

For there in a circle they see them all dance

And the girls just stare as if in a trance.

 

Copyright Jane Goodhew

 Her Secret Garden

By Sis Unsworth

 

Jill Made a secret garden, when her boys were young,

it was just behind the apple tree, sheltered from the sun.

She used to leave small presents there, as a special gift,

and the pleasure it created, always gave her such a lift.

Whenever the boys found one, excitedly they’d shout,

while Jill pretended she never knew, how those gifts came about.

Like sunrise and sunset, the clouds of time roll by,

you wake and realise, how fast the years did fly.

But nothing lasts forever, and so the past was laid,

then grandchildren came along, and in the garden played.

Again she loved to leave them gifts, behind the apple tree,

so when they found their treasures their faces filled with glee.

The secret garden filled her life for many many years,

The sounds of their excitement, brought music to her ears,

but once more the mist of time, swept away the laughter.

Though Jill was quite content, with the world that followed after.

She still sits in the garden, where she made that special place

As often treasured memories, are gifts we can’t replace.

Copyright Sis Unsworth

 TRANSGENIC PETS

(FOLLOWING A NEWS ARTICLE ON ALLERGY-FREE PETS)

By Peter Woodgate

A GENETICALLY MODIFIED CAT,

NOW HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THAT?

ONE WITHOUT FLEAS THAT WON’T MAKE YOU SNEEZE

AND CAN SAFELY SIT ON YOUR LAP.

 

OR A DOG THAT DOESN’T BARK,

NO NEED FOR WALKS IN THE PARK,

YOU WON’T NEED A LEAD FOR A DOG OF THIS BREED

OR HAVE TO GET UP WITH THE LARK.

 

THERE’S A HAMPSTER WHO’S NICKNAMED KEITH,

HE COMES WITH A LITTLE MOTIF,

THIS CREATURE CAN’T BITE AND WON’T PICK A FIGHT

WE’VE EXTRACTED ALL OF HIS TEETH.

 

WE HAVE PETS FOR ALL HUMAN WHIMS,

PARROTS THAT DON’T SIT ON SWINGS,

MICE THAT DON’T BREED, GUINEA PIGS THAT DON’T FEED

AND A BIRD WITHOUT ANY WINGS.

 

SO, VISIT THE PET-CLONING SHOP,

WE DO A JOLLY GOOD SWOP,

TRADE YOUR HUSBAND OR WIFE FOR ONE WITHOUT STRIFE

AND YOUR TROUBLES AND HEARTACHES WILL STOP.

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate

  THE BREAKING OF THE WINDOW 

 By Richard Banks

In June 1912 the window of the post office in Rayleigh was broken in an act of vandalism that was part of the Suffragettes’ campaign for women’s suffrage.

The subsequent trial of a Miss Bertha Brewster for this offence was held in Southend. The Chelmsford Chronicle reported proceedings as follows: 

Miss Ellen Judd, postmistress at Rayleigh said that shortly before midnight she was awakened by the smashing of glass. On getting up she found three large pieces of lead [presumably within the post office as well as broken glass from the window]. 

Arthur Ager, draper, said that he heard the smash and saw a young lady who he believed was the defendant, jump on her cycle, which had no lights and ride off. 

PC Pryke, alerted by Ager, cycled after the defendant and caught up with her one mile along the road towards London. She had no lights and told him that the lamp had just gone out. He told her that she answered the description of a lady who was supposed to have broken windows in Rayleigh post office. She replied, “that will have to be proved.” 

Defendant was remanded until Wednesday 3^rd July, when she said, “nobody had seen the windows broken and it could not, therefore, be proved that she had broken them.” 

The Chairman [a Mr Wedd) said that the bench was unanimous in finding the defendant guilty of an outrage on society. Fined £5. and £1.7s and 6d for damage and costs.

Was it an open and shut case or could the culprit have been Miss Ruth Curnock, the youngest of ten children born to Nehemiah Curnock, the local Methodist minister, who, it was rumoured, had been seen near to the scene of the crime by a policeman who, recognising her as the Minister’s daughter, told her to go home. If he did, this important piece of evidence was never mentioned at Bertha Brewster’s trial. Could it be that the unnamed policeman, and possibly other local people, withheld this information to protect the good name of the Minister, who in addition to being a much respected resident was known in this country and overseas for his work in deciphering John Wesley’s diaries.

While this is feasible there appears to be no evidence that any such cover-up happened. Although it has been alleged that Ruth was a suffragette there is no record of her in suffragette records. She was 33 when the window was broken, eight years older than Bertha.

The evidence that Bertha committed the crime is, in my view, perfectly sound. She was a prominent suffragette with a string of previous convictions for causing criminal damage. Perhaps her most infamous exploit was the breaking of windows at the Sun Hall in Liverpool, in 1909, disrupting a speech by the Secretary of State for War. Along with six other suffragettes she had gained access to the roof of the Hall from where they threw bricks and stones through the windows with a dexterity, that the reporter for The Courier described as ‘nothing short of marvellous’. On their way to Walton Prison they sang The Marseillaise, broke the windows of the vehicle they were travelling in and pushed a Votes for Women flag through the ventilator in the roof. During their stay in prison [they were sentenced to one month imprisonment] they broke further windows, went on hunger strike and were released over the next few days ‘owing to their emaciated condition’. Bertha appeared in court a second time in Liverpool for the breaking of the prison windows and was sentenced to six weeks imprisonment with hard labour. In 1910 and 1911 she was convicted at Bow Street court of two more charges of criminal damage following widespread disorder in London. 

There can, therefore, be little doubt that Bertha was responsible for the breaking of the post office window. However, what was she doing in Rayleigh on the night of her last recorded crime? Was she cycling for pleasure as many visitors to Rayleigh did at that time (although probably not at that time of night) or was she here on suffragette business visiting local activists of which one might possibly have been Ruth. Almost certainly her sole intention was not to break the insignificant window of the Rayleigh post office – that was decidedly small fry compared to her previous exploits.

Could it be that having roused Ruth to the need for violent protest she inveigled her into breaking the window while Bertha stood by encouragingly, or assisting in the breaking. This, of course, is speculation verging on fiction, but then speculation is probably as valid as rumour.                

 

Copyright Richard Banks   

 

BILLY CROMPTON’S WAGER 

By Bob French.

It was Friday the 11^th of November 2011, a special day for Billy Crompton, a veteran of the Korean War and the Suez Crisis, who like many of his pals, quietly stood at the war memorial at 11 o’clock in the rain to pay homage to those who did not return.  It was a good turn out and Billy was pleased to see a few of his pals from his old regiment had turned out. 

It had stopped raining by the evening, as he pushed open the door to his local, The Duke of Wellington, in Hatfield Peverel. After raising his hand in appreciation to the many who called out his name, he took his seat at the end of the bar.

          “Usual Billy?”

“Thank you, Harry.” 

The chatter and the sound of music grew as the night went on, until eight o’clock, when Harry rang the bell, informing those who had paid their five pounds, that the buffet was ready. 

Billy was looking forward to his evening meal and as he queued, he felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned.  There, standing in front of him was his old platoon commander, Mr Hawthorn Jarvis-Bollthrop, wearing his old regimental tie. 

“God, what are you doing here?” Billy’s tone was disrespectful to his old boss, but he didn’t care.  Ever since the man, who was a second lieutenant during the Korean war, had deserted him and his platoon leaving them stranded in no-man’s land, to fight their way back to their lines.  From that moment on, the lads from the second platoon refused to recognise him as their platoon commander. 

Billy ignored him, took his meal and sat down with some of his old pals and began chatting.  Much to Billy’s annoyance, Javis-Bollthrop joined the table where Billy sat and started to tell everyone how he had grown in status and wealth after the war. 

“What happened?  Did daddy give you lots of money?” 

“No, as a matter of fact, I started to work for Lloyds in London.  After a while, I began to work on stocks and shares, then moved to trading in foreign assets.  Have to say I made a packet. 

“So, what do you do now then?” One of Billy’s friends asked? 

“I trade on the stock market these days, having made a killing on the foreign assets desk. I also like to gamble at the Grosvenor Casino in Russell Square. It’s a very select establishment you know.” 

On hearing this, Billy put down his fork and stared at his old boss. 

“So you think you’re a good gambler then?” 

Jarvis-Bollthrop gave Billy a smug look, then nodded 

“OK, I bet you 50 quid, that I can lick my eyeball.”

Laughing, Jarvis-Bollthrop agreed.

Billy then carefully removes his false eyeball and licks it.

The people around them suddenly started to cheer as Billy extends his hand, ready to accept 50 pounds.  Jarvis-Bollthrop reluctantly takes out a 50-pound note from his wallet and hands it to Billy.

“Fancy getting your own back?”

Jarvis-Balthrop grins and immediately accepts the challenge.

“OK, I will bet you 500 quid that I can bite one of my ears.”

          Jarvis-Bollthrop doesn’t trust Billy, so he leans across and gives each of Billy’s ears a tug.  Happy with his inspection, he agrees to the wager.

Billy then leans forward and carefully takes his complete set of false teeth, and proceeds to bite his ear.  The people who had started to gather around the group erupt with laughter and cheers as Jarvis-Bollthrop hands over ten crisp 50 pound notes.

Billy, with a straight face, turns to Jarvis-Bollthrop. “Fancy winning your 500 quid back then?”

Jarvis-Bollthrop thinks for a minute, then stands up. “No thank you,” and makes his way to the exit, followed by jeers and shouts of “chicken.”

In his frustration, he turns. “I shall return tomorrow and we shall see who is the better man.” 

Billy smiles.  “Be here at nine and I shall be waiting.”

Jarvis-Bollthrop nodded then left.

Saturday night The Duke of Wellington pub was heaving and as usual, Billy was chatting with Harry at the end of the bar.

“How many do you reckon you’ll get in tonight then?

Harry thought for a minute. “Saturday night…um....  I’d say 70 to 80, it could be more, say 95, if there is no football on the telly.”

As expected, at 8:50, Jarvis-Bollthrop enters the busy pub and makes his way towards Billy at the end of the bar.

“Glad you could make it. Fancy a drink?”

After some small talk, Billy brings the conversation around to the wager. 

“Right then.  Are you ready to win back your 500 quid?”

Jarvis-Bollthrop studies Billy’s face.  “Are you confident Corporal Crompton?”

Billy paused for a second to give the impression that he was not totally sure of the outcome of the wager, then says slowly, “Sure. Let’s get on with it.” 

Jarvis-Bollthrop seeing Billy’s reaction, smiles.

“Look, let’s make it worth my while.  Shall we up the stakes to say, a 1000 pounds?”

Suddenly those who had gathered around Billy’s table fell silent. Billy saw the flash of the challenge in Jarvis-Bollthrop’s eyes and realised that he may have bitten of more than he could choose.

“Right then.  Let’s make it really simple.  I bet you a 1,000 quid that you are wearing maroon underpants.”

“Haha, I’ve got you.  I’m wearing white underpants.”

Billy looked shocked and a little downcast, then asked to see the proof.

Jarvis Bollthrop grinned and feeling elated that he had finally beaten Billy, turned to him.

“What do you mean. “Want some proof?”

“Simple really. I want to see you wearing your white underpants.”

Javis-Bollthrorp considered what Billy was asking and seemed to come to a decision, then nodded, and with a grin on his face undid his belt, and dropped his trousers.

Everyone in the pub cheered as Billy glanced at the clock, then handed Jarvis-Bollthrop the 1000 pounds which Harry had arranged from the till earlier that night.

“I don’t understand. Why are you and everyone cheering?  You’ve just lost 1000 pounds?”

“Simple really. I bet every person here tonight 50 quid that at exactly nine o’clock I would get you to drop your trousers in front of everyone in the pub. Aint that right Harry?”

1060 words July 2024

Copyright Bob French