Crow
By Jane Scoggins
That
wicked bird
That
wiley one
Black
of heart and wing
That
hooded thief
With
watchful eye
Plumage
dark as coal
He
caws and dives
Like
a feathered jet
Soars
to scruffy nest
Bright
clever knave
In
parliamentary heights
Grips
the swaying branch
Watching
laughing for the chance
To
swoop and scare
The
unsuspecting sparrow
Copyright
Jane Scoggins
THE PROTEST
by Richard Banks
Nothing that is but Aarry Sullivan who likes Britain where it is and would rather not be separated from his brother who lives across the border in the Independent Nation of Scotland. While Aarry should be keeping his opinions to himself he is inclined to share them with his drinking companions at the Boris Tavern, a grade four alehouse for unskilled operatives engaged in non-essential work.
Once Aarry had hopes of promotion to a grade three tavern where there was a carpet on the floor and an inside loo, but his application to be upgraded on the grounds that his father had once been a grade three until demoted for unspecified contraventions of the Citizens’ Code was rejected on the grounds that Aarry was unable to prove that the unspecified offence had not taken place. The official notification of this decision had been followed by a further form withdrawing his non-essential food ration for three months.
So, here he was at the Boris, drinking cloudy beer in the company of Mase and Albe whose tacit acceptance of the ‘Great Journey’ was based on the assumption that nothing they said was likely to make any difference.
“It’s bound to be a bit choppy on the
way over,” said Mase, who had once been seasick on Southend Pier. “Should be
warmer though.”
“By twenty degrees at least,” agreed
Aarry. “Alright in the winter but just you wait until summer. Be hotter than an
oven then.”
Mase who earns a living by pulling a
rickshaw absorbed this information with a deepening frown.
“And then there’s the alligators,” said
Aarry. “Big buggers they are, the size of a launch. Won’t take long for them to
swim across from the mainland. Heaven help anyone who gets too close to one of
them.”
Mase took another swig of beer while
wondering why no one had mentioned this before. “Are you sure about the
alligators? There’s nothing about them in the Daily Truth. It will all be
wonderful that’s what the paper says. Prosperity for everyone, even us.”
“So you know that for a fact?”
“Of course I do. Can’t be anything else
if it’s in the Truth. Blimey Aarry, don’t tell me you’re one of those
Differentalists. You know what happens to them.”
“No,” said Aarry, “no one knows. Here
today and gone tomorrow, but that’s not going to happen to us if we keep our
voices down and no one hears. Why shouldn’t we have opinions that are different
from the Government? Bring back Parliament. Government for the people by the
people that’s what I say.”
“But that’s democracy,” gasped Albe,
looking in panic at the listening device on the wall above their heads. “Just
saying that word is a crime against the state.”
“Well, you just have,” said Aarry,
unable to repress a chuckle, “but don’t worry, Mase and me ain’t going to shop
you and neither is anyone else. The listener up there don’t work and probably
never did. It’s just a dummy to discourage dummies like us from getting out of
line. The only listener in here is Jo behind the bar. A Government spy, that’s
what he is. Earns far more doing that than selling this swill. But while he’s
there and we’re over here out of earshot, we can say what we like.”
“Are you sure?” whispered Mase who,
like Albe, was peering anxiously at the listener.
“Of course I’m sure. OK, let’s put it to the test. Viva the revolution, power to the people. Now, if that thing is working, this place will be full of the Guard by the time I get back from the karzie.” And with that, he departed for the shed out back.
He returned five minutes later to find his companions still waiting tremulously for the squeal of brakes and the slamming of car doors that usually preceded a Guard raid.
“Now, where were we?” said Aarry.
“Don’t think that moving the country to the States will be doing us any
favours. Whatever happens, we’re always be bottom of the heap. It’s the Plebs at
the top that will be cashing in. As for the three of us, it couldn’t be worse.”
“Not sure about that,” said Albe
glancing nervously through an uncurtained window at a passing car.
“Well you should be,” interrupted
Aarry. “Just think about it. You run a treadmill to heat homes while me and the
Misses work in a factory making fur coats for those who can afford them. None
of that will be of any use where we’re going. As for you, Mase, I don’t fancy
your job pulling a rick in the heat of one their summers. Hot work for those
who can stand it.”
“But then,” said Mase as Aarry abruptly
changed the subject.
“Then Spurs scored from a corner and…. Hello Jo, what you doing over here. Come to wipe down the table. That’s very civil of you. Don’t miss that green bit in the middle. Lord knows what that is.” Aarry returned to his commentary on the Spurs until Jo was safely back at the bar. “So, as I was saying the move is not for us. The question is what we’re going to do about it?”
“What can we do? It’s Government
policy. Their minds are made up. They even asked some of the people.”
“The people,” scoffed Aarry. “Aren’t we the people? No one’s asked us, and never will while we do nothing but what we’re told. There was a time when people like us had rights when we had a say on who was going to be the Government and kicked them out when we didn’t like what they were doing. It don’t happen now. Why I’ll tell you why we don’t have the vote no more.”
“And a good thing too,” said Albe. Don’t you know it was the vote that divided people and set them against each other? Surely you remember what they taught us at school?
“Yeah, along with all the other crap. They didn’t bother much with the reading and writing but they were never shy of telling us our place. Citizens’ Rights they called it, two periods every day. Two hours of them telling us we weren’t good enough, that Government was done by those who had the most money and the big estates, that only they were fit to run the country. And us, at the bottom of the pile? What use were we? Not much according to our teachers. That’s why school ended for us at fourteen, and we were set loose to do the jobs no one else wanted, for the doles and privileges that came the way of those who did what they were told.”
“Well, that’s the way it is, Aarry,”
said Mase. “We can’t be going back to the bad old days of mutiny and anarchy when the gutters flowed with blood,”
“It never happened,” said Aarry in a
raised voice that was heard behind the bar. “It never happened,” he repeated in
a gruff whisper. “It’s all lies, there never was no armed uprising, not by our
sort, no looting, no burning, no violence beyond the shouting of our
grievances.”
Albe’s mouth sagged open in disbelief.
“That’s not what it says in the history books. Where do you get all this
stuff?”
“From my grandad, that’s who. Some of
it he saw for himself, most was told him by his father. I also saw it in a book
he had. My mother burnt it when he died but by then I had read every page. It
was the army that rose up, paid to do it by those at the top of the money tree
who wanted to be free of all regulation so they could become richer and more
powerful. No more Parliaments for them. At first, they made themselves popular
by giving everyone tax cuts but in the years that followed they made sure that
the rich got richer and everyone else from the middle down was slowly, but
surely, made worse. The Unions that stood up for the rights of their members
were suppressed and public services,
like hospitals, were starved of the money they needed to keep going. And when the
people had had enough, when they were half starved and only paid a pittance,
they took to the streets in a great demonstration called the Just Remonstrance,
but by then it was too late. That’s when the revolution happened, the bloody
suppression of the people by the army. Thousands died and when the newspapers
and TV reported what had happened they were shut down and replaced by Truth
Media. And since then we’ve done what we’ve been told until no one knows another
way. Ours is the hard way, the only way, that’s what they taught us at school, and that’s what we hear and read every single day. And, if the likes of us don’t
tell the people what’s really going on it will only get worse.”
“No, no, Aarry, it’s all going to get
better. Once we’re on the other side of the pond it will be…”
“Worse than before,” interjected Mase. “Aarry’s right, right about that, and right about the Just Remonstrance. Grandma said those words when she was going silly with the mind rot. Spoke about soldiers shooting down the people and bodies too many to count. We thought it was nonsense, crazy talk. The only thing crazy, was that she was now saying what she had kept inside her when she had her wits. ‘Keep your mind to yourself,’ was one of her sayings. And that’s what she did until the last year of her life when it all came spilling out.”
“What about you?” said Aarry to Albe
“do you believe me now? Not sure? Well one thing you can’t ignore is that
running a treadmill in 40 degrees heat will do you nothing but harm. How old
are you? Fifty? Little chance of you making it through to sixty. Is that what
you want for you and your son?”
“But what’s to be done? How can we
possibly make things right?”
“By telling the people the truth, the
real truth, that they are poor because they have been made poor, that they are
oppressed when they should be free, and that none of this will change until
they seize back what is rightly theirs. We must be like the farmer sowing
seeds, seeds of truth that will take root and become a mighty harvest. If the
people rise up, too many to be denied they will be free. It must happen, we
must make it happen. At home, I have leaflets telling people, people like
us, what they must know and do. We each take some and hand them out to the
workers leaving the second shift tomorrow. It will be dark, keep your faces covered, and as soon as you’re done get yourself out of sight in the back alleys. Any
questions?”
“Where do we go?” Said Mase.
“Me outside NPI, you at the steelworks, and Albe outside the generating station in Crawley Street. Is that OK, Albe? No need to say anything, just nod your head. ….Good man! OK now, drink up and come back to my place. There’s a bag of leaflets for both of you, one hundred in each. And in case you’re wondering we won’t be the only ones out there tomorrow, there’ll be five more in Sectors One and Three. Come on now, let’s be going, we have a great work to do.”
*****
In order not to endanger each other it was agreed by the three of them not to meet at the Boris until the following week, an arrangement that left Aarry free to return there by himself the following evening. Bag in hand he made his way into the back room and, as Jo locked up for the night, poured himself a Scotch from a bottle on the dining table within. Having downed it in one he was in the process of replenishing his glass when Jo entered the room and sat down beside him.
“Everything OK? Your mates in position
and ready to go?”
“You must be kidding. Have them hand
out seditious propaganda? No way. Even one leaflet in the wrong hands can cause
trouble down the line; remember what I said about little seeds. No, they were
arrested at dawn, their possession of subversive literature more than enough to
make them enemies of the State. We won’t be seeing them again.”
“No point then in drinking to their
good health.”
“None at all. And to think I use to be
like they were, sticking to the rules, rules meant to keep us down. Then I
changed, but not like them. If you can’t beat them join them. Make yourself
useful. No one goes hungry where I live. So, here we are, in the money again.
Your share’s in the bag, in kind, just as you wanted, ten bottles of Scotch and
four of gin.”
“And what about you?”
“What about me? You mean how much do I get? Maybe more, maybe less. That’s for me to know and you not to think about. But one thing I can tell you is that I’m moving up in the world. Got my grade 3 today, so this will be our last drink together. Soon, I’ll be a regular at the Phoenix, downing grade 3 beer with journeymen mechanics and semi-literate clerks, folks who are keen to get on in life and who might be tempted by those like me fomenting revolution. As for you, you’ll be getting a new man, Suji. Very keen is Suji. I’m sure you’ll do well together. So, here’s to us, to past times and better ones to come.”
“Cheers.”
The End.
Copyright Richard Banks
By Len Morgan
Somewhere in the Oort cloud, several
light years from Earth, a meteor from deep space collided with a mass the size
of a small planet. It shattered like crushed honeycomb. The impact
released a shower of debris in the direction of the solar system.
Millions of years later the first missiles arrived in the vicinity of the
asteroid belt, just beyond Mars.
Gemma and Clive Simmons, a married couple,
are partners in private enterprise. They are members of a consortium, together
with eleven other craft, prospecting and mining metals in the asteroid
belt. The work is dangerous, hard, and repetitive, but financially
rewarding. Their days consist of crushing and grinding the rocks on the surface
of a likely asteroid, eating into it with diamond drill bits. Like worms eating
into an apple, their 'RockHopper', designated RH09, was assigned to sector 9 of
the asteroid belt. They were mining a group of metal rich asteroids. RH09
was in the process of electronically tagging and disengaging from asteroid
R09761. They’d just identified deposits on asteroid R09762, when they were
bombarded by a swarm of meteorites. They were unlike anything they had
previously encountered. The missiles struck the hull of the craft,
shaking it like an earthquake. They stuck to the RH09's outer skin as if they
were magnetic.
"There's somebody at the door, Clive. Will
you get it?"
"Huh, funny girl! I'll suit up
while you wind in the snorkel. Let's see what they're made of, could be
worth collecting."
"Feed em into hopper #3 then we can
crush and dissect them at leisure. Should be enough room in there, we
don't have a full load yet."
Clive suited up, checked the air pressure
on his tanks, and said "I’m going out..." The ship sucked air from
the airlock and on his return, half an hour later, refilled it.
"Strange little buggers, pretty
uniform, about the size of a tennis ball, flattened on one side. Had to
prize them off the hull like limpets, they left trails cleared of dust as they
moved. Fortunately, they only hit us with glancing blows as if they all came
from one source. I collected a dozen, they're in the bin, and there are
plenty more scattered around on this rock. Do you need a hand disengaging
the hoses while I’m out here?"
"No thanks. While you were out
gallivanting with your friends, I kept on working as always."
"Good girl. So, I'll catch a
little shuteye while you set a trajectory for R09762?"
An hour later, she woke him up "Clive!
There’s something weird happening in H3, I think it’s sprung a leak. It
was three quarters full when you loaded those globes now it’s only half
full. Are you sure one of those impacts didn't breach the hull?"
"What? You’re joshing me; there were
just a few minor paint scrapings outside."
"Well something's wrong! Get off
yer ass and check it out!"
"Yes boss, anything you say, boss."
He made his way to H3 and checked the atmosphere, it was stable.
"Well, we're not leaking air so, are you sure those readings are
correct?"
"Sure as your name is Floyd, It
is, isn't it?"
"You know my name! So, I'll open
H3 and find out what's amiss."
"Careful man, there's not much gravity
in there."
He rolled his eyes, hauled himself up by
the rope ladder, hand over hand, unlatched the hopper, and raised the hatch.
"That's odd, those balls have tripled in size, what are they doing eating
rocks?" As he watched, one of the balls moved leaving a silvery
metallic slime trail. “The surface of the scrape is covered in their
slime. I don't believe it, they're excreting pure metals and they’ve
increased to the size of basketballs."
"Can you get them out of there before
they grow any bigger? If they're growing at that rate, they'll soon
outgrow the hopper and take over the ship."
"I'll need some help there, Gem, we'll
need to set up a winch outside to haul them out. I’d really like to know
where the hell they came from."
An hour later they were both suited up, and
standing beside the ship watching a dozen boulders slide slowly away from the
ship. They began collecting the slug slime, which proved to be an amalgam
of various metals.
“They’re moving under their own steam,
which means they could be alive.”
“It would be nice to keep one, eh Gem?
Then we wouldn’t need to cart our ore back to the mother ship to be
transported to moon base for smelting. But, there’s a directive somewhere
about reporting extraterrestrial contacts to the ECC back on Earth.”
“We probably need to consult the others,
let’s make a collective decision before we relinquish this find.”
Two days later the consortium gathered in
the mother ship. Almost all the
RockHopper crews there had encountered the balls. Space slugs was the
consensus, and the best description they came up with.
“So it’s unanimous, we pass the news on to
Moon base. They take the lion’s share of our scrape, so they can have the
responsibility for reporting this to ECC back on Earth,” said Voss, captain of
the mother ship.
“Has anybody else witnessed the larger ones
fragmenting? We saw one separate into twenty-seven, small, golf
ball-sized pieces. I thought it had died but the pieces just kept on
eating,” said Lin Chou from RH04.
Three days later, a report came in from
Captain Voss.
“I’ve contacted moon base, they’ve been
bombarded with the little buggers. They’ve been landing on Earth as well but
the heat of entry has turned them into glass balls. They are confirmed to be a
silicon-based life form. ECC has named
their various compounds as Silicarb’s. Left to their own devices, they
will decimate the asteroid belt in a hundred or so years, depending on their
rate of reproduction.”
“S’pose we could seal them in metal tanks,
and limit their food supply.”
“Maybe we could fire them into the Sun.”
“Yea the heat would sure stabilize them,”
said Gem.
“Or, we could fire them back into the Oort
cloud where they came from.”
“What if the Oort wasn’t where they came
from Clive?”
“What if they are left unchecked, what
could they do to the moon? Will they eventually die off, or will they
just go on forever, and devour everything…”
It was an amateur astronomer, Constatine
Christodoulou, who discovered an asteroid, not on the NEO listings. It
will either pass very close to, or collide with Earth. It’s a rock the
size of
“Gem, I’ve just received a vid from the
mother ship about asteroid 2175. Did you
hear it?” Clive asked.
“No, What?”
“According to Voss the ECC have procedures
in play to change its course but it’s coming from an unexpected
direction. It leaves little time for them to redeploy their missiles.”
“Why is he telling us?”
“Moonbase has an alternative backup plan in
the event ECC’s plan fails.”
“Involving us?”
“Their plan is for us to gather medium
sized slugs and aim them towards 2175,” said Clive.
“It’s a shot in the dark. We have no
way of guiding them. But, we have to find 2175 first, it will be like
finding an ant in the
“Voss says we need to come up with a method
of delivery, all suggestions will be considered, we have only weeks to save
ourselves and the Earth.”
“What if we empty our hoppers and fill them
with the small ones…” Gemma said.
“It’s a suggestion, I’ll pass it on.”
Two hours later, “There’s a vid from Voss
coming through, Clive. He says others have come up with the same idea, but Moonbase doubts we will be able to carry enough
Slugs to eat the bulk of the asteroid in the time remaining. They
suggest that if they supply us with steel nets we could drag a much larger quantity
between us. At a guess, we could double or even treble our payload.
They think that would help. Your thoughts Clive?”
“Well, that might still be marginal, but if ECC’s nukes don’t succeed we
might be humanity's only chance of survival. Are our
twelve ships the only ones available, Gem?
”
“No, apparently they’re sending every
available craft including the junkyard collectors. In all there are over
200 craft; we leave at 1200 SST (Sol Standard Time). So let’s spread our nets and cart as many
slugs as we can carry to the flotilla at the meeting point they’ve given
us.”
“I bet RockHoppers are the only ones
dragging the slugs Gem.”
“Horses for courses, Clive. They’ve
spotted asteroid 2175 crossing the orbit of Venus.”
“Let’s get out there and sling our load in
its direction.”
The
flotilla had previously agreed on the slingshot method of delivery. It
took them two days to reach asteroid 2175 and shower it with slugs. They
stood off to watch them do their thing.
Voss here “Three hours later, ECC has
calculated that the metallic mass remaining could still result in an extinction
event on Earth. They can’t give us any further help they used up their stock
missiles before we arrived. They are reduced to praying for a
miracle!” The airways were silent.
“Gemma went over the open mike! Does anybody
have suggestions of something we could try?
If we don’t come up with a plan, we’ll have no home to go back too”
The airways remained silent but RH09 nosed
in towards the meteor, and slowly nudged into a crater. They’re executing
a Slo-Ram, a technique routinely used by prospectors to nudge smaller asteroids
into a stable state before mining operations could begin.
Gemma broke the silence. “RH09
doesn’t have enough power to change its direction, but if we all Slo-Ram, we
might be able to move it!”
“Come on RockHopper’s let’s see what our
combined weight can do at full thrust.” Voss encouraged. Then slowly the
‘dirty dozen’ nosed in. With full jets thrusting they fired for an hour, the
asteroid moved, but according ECC on Earth, it was still not enough.
“Our fuel is getting low,” said Clive.
At this rate, we’ll soon be stranded here in the back of beyond.”
“Back off! Pull away!” said
Voss. The RockHooper’s backed away, “Any other suggestions?”
“This Slo-Ram is a new one on
me,” said Captain Heeney one of the freighter captains, “Let’s give it a try.
Within half an hour, a hundred ships of all
kinds were doing a Slow-Ram and their combined thrusters moved it several
degrees in an hour. They backed off while the remaining ships moved in to
do their stint.
“ECC say if we can change its direction by a further 5 degrees, it will miss Earth entirely and be on course for splashdown on Sol.”
Heeney drew in a deep breath, and yelled, “Thank goodness for Rockhopper’s; and for prayer.”
Copyright Len Morgan
Haiku 4U ~ 01
by Robert Kingston
Haiku 4U ~ 02
Haiku 4U ~ 03
Haiku 4U ~ 04
Copyright Robert Kingston
NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION
By Bob French
Humphrey sat back and looked down at the Christmas
presents he had just received from the tree by the hand of his sister
Jean. As he contemplated them, he noticed that his and all the
other presents were wrapped in the same wrapping paper. Out of the corner of
his eye, he saw Dorothy’s face turn to thunder as she unwrapped her presents,
but thought nothing of it. Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by
Jim, Jean’s brother, a rough and ready builder by trade, who slumped down
beside him.
“Hay Humph, how you doing
mate? Haven’t seen you since we went on that boat trip down the
Jim was about twenty-five; tanned,
with ice blue eyes, and built like an Irish toilet. His lack of
decorum was made up by his fast-talking wit and charm which he used on the
ladies, regardless of their age.
“Fine Jim, how’s business with
you? keeping busy?” Humphrey knew that when speaking to Jim, it was best to
stick to subjects he knew about rather than the cost of living or the war in
“Made a couple of grand last month
renovating an old house over in Wickford. It was owned by some ponce
who had retired from the Conservative Party or something. And
you? Still, pushing your pen around ledgers?
Humphrey was an accountant and
had been since leaving school. He had, as suggested by his father,
started at the bottom, but instead of rising slowly through the ranks, he had
stayed at the bottom. Overlooked and regularly criticized by his managers as
being too slow and a little too honest. This last
misdemeanor had caused him the loss of Mildred, his wife of some ten
years.
Mildred was the daughter of Roger
Harvest, the manager of the local bank and when Mildred mentioned that her
husband was an accountant, Roger thought to push some business his
way. That was the first mistake because after Humphrey had gone
through the books, he found that Roger had omitted to declare a number of taxes
to Her Majesties Inspector of Taxes. Secondly, rather than sit down
with Roger and explain his findings and then how he could overcome the issue,
he informed the tax man, causing the preverbal poo hit the fan.
The first he knew something was
amiss was when he was called into his boss’s office, and after an hour of being
yelled at and criticized for being incompetent and a dead weight in the
company, was told to get out.
That night as he pushed his front
door open, he felt the place cold. After calling out for Mildred and getting no
reply, started to slowly search his home. He found her letter on the kitchen
table. She had left him, claiming that what he had promised her on
their wedding day of being a successful accountant and living in a nice house
in Billericay with a car each and a couple of kids, had failed to materialize.
Now alone, his sister Jean had taken pity on him and included him in any
family celebrations. He had always found an excuse to duck out of
these events, but this year, he had failed to convince her, and so, was duty
bound to attend. Her parting words were “Don’t bother to bring
presents, I’ve bought everyone a present or two.”
His thoughts were interrupted by
the sound of two children giggling behind the sofa but chose to ignore
them. He hated kids, especially those two brats belonging to
Jean. Arrogant, spoilt and rude. He recalled the time when he had
been given a plastic bottle of water at the family summer picnic and after a
brisk game of football with the family, had sat down next to Jean’s beautifully
laid out picnic, took a deep swig from the bottle, only to find it was pure
gin. He had swallowed two or three deep gulps before realizing what
he was drinking, then vomited up the foul-tasting alcohol, all over Jean’s
masterpiece.
Since then, Humphrey was always on
guard when these two miscreants were nearby.
It was nearing nine at night when
Humphrey made his apologies and left, taking his unopened Christmas presents
with him. As he left, Jean quietly mentioned that if he didn’t like
the presents, he could take them back to the House of Fraser down at Lakeside and they would give him a credit note.
A few days before New Year’s day,
Jill popped her head around his door.
“Hey, have you
heard? The boss is throwing a work’s New Year’s party in a
restaurant down by the House of Fraser in Lakeside. You coming?”
Humphrey had liked Jill, but being
married, felt that she was out of bounds and was about to decline her invitation,
then realised that he could pop into the House of Fraser, exchange his unopened
Christmas presents, then join the party.
“Jill, I’d love to come.”
The journey down to Lakeside was sadly lacking in Christmas or New Year’s
spirit. As he stepped down from the minibus he called out.
“I’m just going to change my
Christmas presents at The House of Fraser. I’ll meet you all in the
restaurant,” and started to walk away from his work colleagues who had already
started to window shop.
“Hang on Humph, we’ll come with
you. I have heard that the House of Fraser has a great New Year
window display,” yelled one of the girls. Humphrey spun around to
see that the girls, led by Jill from the typing pool, and a few of the senior
managers, had decided to join him.
In his defense, he called out that
“It’s OK, they always buy me things that I don't need, you know, men’s things.”
Thinking that he did not need to explain that every Christmas he always got
socks or handkerchiefs.
He finally found the customer care
counter and was a little surprised to find it busy, but more concerning, was
that everyone seemed to have followed him into the store.
“Good evening, Sir. How
can I help you?” The woman was in her early twenties and wore a
badge that declared her to be a trainee.
“Yes, good evening,
Miss. These are my Christmas presents which I wish to hand back and
obtain a credit note please.”
“Certainly Sir, let me unwrap them
for you. By this time everyone had gathered around Humphrey, eager
to see what he had received for Christmas. All of a sudden those around him
fell silent and Humphrey looked back into the face of the young trainee, who
had started to blush.
“What is it?”
Very slowly the young woman pulled
out a pair of black stockings, a bright red garter, a matching garter belt, and
a pair of scanty black lace knickers.
No one spoke for a few seconds,
then Jill, who had been standing next to him quietly whispered to him, with a
grin on her face.
“Humph you dirty old
man. If I knew you were kinky, I’d have bought you something like
these ages ago.”
Suddenly everyone was laughing at
him, but Jill, realizing his dilemma and quietly took his hand and squeezed it.
Before he could snatch the other
unopened present from the trainee, she had ripped off the wrapping paper and
tore open the box which contained seven pairs of raunch knickers each with the
day of the week and a very suggestive logo on each pair.
Humphrey suddenly leaned across the
counter and grabbed at the wrapping paper. Then he saw
it. Those two little devils had switched the labels on the Christmas
presents. It was then that the image of Dorothy’s expression flashed
across his mind and he relised what they had done.
Suddenly everyone was laughing at
the presents and not him. Jill, who held onto him, leant into him
and gave him a quick kiss, and whispered with a huge grin on her face, “You are
naughty, but I like it.”
A couple of the senior managers
slapped Humphrey on the back, grinning at him and wishing him a happy New Year.
Then the whole party was moving towards the restaurant; the mood had changed;
everyone was laughing and chattering and in high spirits. Jill had taken
Humphrey by the hand and drifted to the back of the crowd as they entered the
restaurant.
“So Humph, what is your New Year’s
resolution?”
He smiled at her and then gently
kissed her. “I was wondering if you would like to come and live with
me?”
With a huge grin on her face, she
whispered into his ear. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Copyright
Bob French
DO YOU REMEMBER?
by Richard Banks 
I was still in that drowsy
state of waking when I realised there was a visitor. I wondered who it would
be: my wife, mother, brother, George, whoever George was. All had come and
spoken of others who intended coming. My family was evidently a large one.
There were also friends. Their get well cards numbered thirty.
I hoped, when I opened my eyes, it would not my wife again.
One should feel a special attachment to a wife; I must admit I felt none. The
woman was not unattractive, although possibly a little older than myself. We
were, she said, twenty years married. Our son was called Michael, he had just
started work for a firm of stock brokers. The three of us lived in
My visitor coughed. It was a man's cough. I decided to see
who it was. An elderly man looked back at me. The lines on his face rearranged
themselves into what might have been a smile. I smiled too, as well as the
bandages on my face would allow.
“I don't suppose you remember me?” he said with the sad
resignation of someone whose fate was to
be anonymous.
I shook my head.
“Didn't think you would, I'm your father. Expect you were
hoping for someone more distinguished. Just as well you take after your
mother's side of the family.”
I recalled my first visitor of the day: a large woman in her
fifties with bleached hair who insisted I call her Ma.
“What do I call you?” I asked.
“Oh, Dad will do.”
“
“
“But I thought you were married to my mother.”
His hangdog expression was suddenly animated by a facial
twitch that caused his right cheek to vibrate. I was about to summon a nurse
when the vibrations subsided and he continued speaking.
“That's what I thought. Also thought I owned a three bed
semi in Southend, but it's all gone now. Your mother's solicitor saw to that.”
“So you and Ma are divorced then?”
He nodded.
“And where do you live now?”
“In a bedsit on the Kursaal Estate. It's not too bad. Small
but cosy. Just room for Joey and the TV.”
“Joey?” I asked.
“Yes, Joey the budgie. He's not much of a talker but he's
better company than your mother.”
I decided to steer the conversation in the direction of
myself. “So Dad, I expect you be wanting to say something that will jog my
memory.”
He managed to look thoughtful and bewildered at the same
time.
“I mean, what can you tell me about my life, the things I've
done that were important to me.”
“You mean like driving off that cliff?”
I took a deep breath. “Yes, that will do.”
“Well it certainly got you into the 'papers. Also got you in
here. It's a wonder you're not in the cemetery. As if going over that cliff
wasn't enough you had to land on the
I shook my head.
“No, didn't think you had. When you do you'll have a lot of
explaining to do.”
“You mean about the accident; how it happened like?
He looked ill at ease as though he had said too much. “Yes,
that as well.”
“As well as what?” I asked.
He responded with what I hoped was a non-sequitur. “Has that
police chappy been in to see you yet?”
“No,” I said.
“Probably best to leave it to him.”
“Leave what? Look Dad, if there's something I ought to know
don't you think you should be telling me first before the police do?”
His face began twitching again. “Not sure I'm allowed to.
Wouldn't want to be breaking the law.”
“Dad, this is just between you and me. No one's listening.
No one will ever know this conversation took place. Now, what is it the police
want to talk to me about?”
The nervous twitch went into overdrive. When he spoke it was
as though someone was exerting a strong grip on his throat. “The money,” he
spluttered.
“What money?”
“The money you took from the bank to pay your gambling
debts. Fifty thousand so the papers say. At least that's how much they found in
your car, what was left of it. Then there's that drugs gang that chased you off
the cliff. I expect the police will be wanting to know where they fit in. No
doubt it will all be clear once you remember. …Won't make no difference to the
house though.”
“What house is that?”
“The one you failed to keep up the payments on. Being sold
at auction next week.
“
“Alice your wife. She came to see you yesterday. Don't you
remember?”
I said that I did remember but that the woman in question
had introduced herself as Ali.”
“Yes, that be her. Tall woman with freckles. I take it she
didn't say anything about the....”
“About the what?”
“About the.... Probably best if she tells you.”
“But she's not here, Dad. So if there's any more bad news
you might as well give it to me now. She wants out, is that it?”
“She is out. Moved out when the bank sent in the bailiffs.”
“I mean she wants out of our marriage.”
“Yes that too. Says she's going to take you to the cleaners
for everything you got. Don't suppose that will be much. At least your boy has
a bob or two now he's started work; not that you'll be seeing much of him once you're in prison.”
“Is there anything else I should know?”
“Well Southend lost five nil to
“And I'm a Southend supporter?”
He nodded.
“Not many reasons to be cheerful then?”
He considered the question carefully and sighed. There was
an awkward silence. He looked at his watch and announced his intention to leave
before it got dark. I watched him shuffle off with a bag of foodstuffs he had
purchased from the Pound shop and saw myself thirty years on.
I was eyeing the window with a view to throwing myself
through it when the pretty little voluntary worker I mentioned earlier appeared
in the doorway. She was pushing a wheelchair on which sat the slumped figure of
an unconscious policeman.
“What's wrong with him?” I asked.
“Sleeping pills in tea,” she replied matter of factly. “Now
get out of bed and help me take off his uniform.”
“Why?” I sensed I was in enough trouble as it was.
“Because if you don't, we can't escape and you'll be found
guilty of goodness knows what and sent to prison. Now get a move on before
someone finds out he's not on guard in the corridor. Oh and by the way I'm Glennis. You may not
remember me but I'm your girl friend. Now this is what's going to happen. You
get up, put on his uniform and we leave via the fire escape. Car to Burnham, yacht to
My observations on better were
delivered through clenched teeth.
“What's that you say? You weren't
smiling, it was a grimace. Well of course you're hurting all over, but it's got
to be done honey bunch. Big effort now. Button up that tunic, helmet on head
and you're all ready to escort me to the car park. Isn't this exciting!”
Before I could answer she flung her arms around my neck and
kissed me on the lips. That's when it all came back to me, when I remembered
how good life could be.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
You bet I was.
The End
Copyright
Richard Banks
