A STRANGE PARADISE

By Bob French

It was my tenth birthday and my Mum had arranged for some of my class mates to come over for a birthday party. Halfway through stuffing my face full of birthday cake and sweets, my dad appeared dressed in some sort of explorer’s outfit.  He had a slouch hat, dark glasses and sandy coloured jacket and slacks.  I noted that his boots were desert boots and had seen some service by the state of them.

He waived his arms around until the room fell into silence.

“OK, Who’s for an adventure?”

Everyone started cheering as I looked at my Mum.  Dad never did anything spontaneous before.  He usually just sat in front of the TV while Mum rushed around the house doing things like making the beds, doing the washing or cooking.  Anyway, he told us all to make a line in the hall way and wait until he was ready.

We must of stood there for nearly ten minutes, then the front door opened, letting the bright warm sunshine flood our hallway.

“Right follow me.  No one must get left behind, so keep checking behind you to see if your friend is there.”

With that we followed Dad out of the house, marching as we went.  He turned down the side of the house and up to the back of a small lorry.

“Right, everyone in.  Once you are in, seat yourself down on the cushions and get comfortable.  The ride won’t take long.”

We’d gone no more that five minutes before Jimmy, the boffin of our class, started to look a little green.  Then without warning he vomited up most of the birthday cake he had stuffed into his face.

Frank, who had been complaining about the amount of cake Jimmy was eating at the party laughed. “That’ll teach you to be such a porker Jimmy.  I think we should call you ‘oink’ from now on.”  This brought laughter from all his friends, where the fear of being sick once filled the back of the lorry.

Suddenly, the lorry started to bump around as though it was driving fast over a ploughed field.  The boys cheered and the girls screamed as they were thrown all over the place.

Then without warning, the lorry came to a halt, bringing a sigh of relief of everyone. The back doors were opened and Dad laughed as he peered into what looked like a mass of bodies scattered all over the place.

“Anyone hurt?  No! Right then get back onto your cushions and put these face masks on.  You must not play with them or take them off or try and sneak a peep.  If you do the magic spell which is about to be cast upon each of you will not work.  The last time a party came this way, one of the boys took his face mask off.”

He left a pause until Joan asked. “What happened to him Mr Jenkins?”

Dad simply said in a quiet, haunting voice “I don’t know.  He vanished.  No one ever heard of him again, so follow the rules and no peeping. Now line-up.

Once we were in a straight line, Dad started to chant some foreign gibberish language which I assume was the magic spell.  When he finished, He asked us all to shout “Ingo Alohomora,” which I recalled reading in one of Harry Potters books.

Once we had yelled the magic spell we were told to turn to our left.

“Now please put your left hand on the shoulder of the person in front of you and start to march.” We could hear the sounds of laughter and music, and Frank yelled out, “We are going to the fair.” But without warning the party turned a sharp left and suddenly the warmth of the sun had left us.  Now it was cold, and there was a wind that rushed over us, ruffling our hair, and the sounds we had heard before had gone.

We walked for about ten minutes until Dad yelled to everyone to stop. The suspense was killing me, something my dad always said when he was watching the TV. Then one by one he flicked a switch on our masks.  Everyone gasped.

“Stand still and one of my hunters will assist you into the chief’s hut.  Whatever happens, do not panic, or attempt to take off your mask.

I could hear most of my class mates chattering nervously. Then I felt someone take my hand and carefully guide me into somewhere warm.

My hunter adjusted my mask and suddenly I was transported into the deep undergrowth of a massive rain forest. I heard Joan scream with delight behind me.  Without warning a huge warrior looking man approached me and pointed me to follow him.  Fear took over and I did as I was told.  He took me deep into a beautiful forest where a huge array of brightly coloured butterflies fluttered around my head.  Very gently I raised my hand and they settled on it. Frank was ahead of me and I smiled because he had found a stump of an old tree and had sat down and was talking to a pair of monkeys who had come down from the trees to speak to us.

Over to my right I could see Joan and Margaret, gently stoking a huge python snake that had, like the monkey’s, come down from the canopy to investigate who the new guests were to their part of the forest.

I heard my dad calling us back to the Chief’s huge mud hut.  He smiled at me. “It’s time to go hunting.” And before the rest of my friends could protest, they were given bows and arrows and spears. 

Without warning, the chief hunter raised his hand and we followed him deep into the jungle. At first, we walked slowly and carefully, not wanting to give our position away to the pray.  We heard a variety of wild animal sound, but nothing charged us or frightened us. Then as if by magic, the bushes opened up and we stood and stared at a small lake surrounded by a variety of wild animals.  The chief hunter told us where to stand and not to move.  I was totally fascinated by the variety of animals that stood side by side and drank from the lake.  

The chief hunter then looked up at the sun and nodded, then quietly, we moved back into the lush green jungle and made our way quietly back to the Chief’s encampment.

Dad met us and explained that it was dinner time and we had all been invited to eat with the chief. He reminded us that if we refuse the food offered you will offend the Chief and his people.”

I could see the expression of fear on my friends faces as the invite sank into their minds. It was Frank who broke the silence.

“I think we should ask Oink to taste the food first as he seems to be the expert.”

No sooner had he said it, than Jimmy had taken a bowl from one of the serving maidens and started to munch his way through the food.

“Frank, this is really good food.  I think it tastes like trifle.”

That was all it took to change the minds of everyone.

Once they had finished the food offering, The Chief then explained to my dad that it was time for dancing.  Now I might be good at football, cricket and even swimming, but I can’t dance to save my life.

The drums started to beat to a rhythm and we were all dancing around a huge sparking fire, screaming and laughing, except Oink, who had eaten too much and was slumped down beside the Chief’s daughter. 

My dad took me and Frank aside briefly and warned us that what ever happens, Jimmy was to leave with us two or he will end up being either married to the Chief’s daughter or their next meal for the Chief’s tribe.

The evening became darker as the time dragged on and then dad raised his hand.

“Right everyone.  It is time to get back home.  Frank. Remember what I told you about Jimmy.”

We danced for a few minutes more then we were told to get back into a line, put our hand on the shoulder in front of us and we started to move again.  The journey back in the lorry was just as rough, but we didn’t mind.  The party and the adventure out into the strange paradise had been something I would never forget.

“Alright everyone, please carefully remove your face masks and hand them to Harry, our driver.  I hope you enjoyed the expedition and remember; no one must know that you have been deep into the rain forest. And met up with Chief Monoluggo and his tribe.”

That night my dad sat down in front of the TV and drank his tea. “You know luv, hirering those Virtual reality masks for the party were a good idea.

Copyright Bob French

 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