TONIGHTS IT’S MACDONALDS

TONIGHTS IT’S MACDONALDS 

By Bob FRENCH

    Old Uncle Ted had served for over thirty years in the Royal Navy, and although he was starting to become frail, it had never dulled his discipline. After his beloved wife Margie, passed away, he moved in with his daughter, Mandy, and her children, bringing with him a lifetime of naval habits that amused everyone in the house, especially little Henry and Clair who giggled at his strange ways, but loved his stories about those who lived on the sea. Ted was a neat, wiry man with silver hair, a clipped white moustache, and bright blue eyes that missed nothing. He favoured pressed trousers, polished brown shoes, a checked shirt, and a navy-blue cardigan, no matter the season. On Sunday’s he would attend church wearing his navy-blue blazer and Royal Navy tie. On Remembrance Day he would don his medals and for the following months he would be the talk of the little village. Every morning began with a cold shower, a shave, then he’d make his bed so tightly you could "bounce a coin on it," followed by inspecting the garden as though it were the quarterdeck. His funniest quirk was his devotion to time.

Breakfast, or ‘scran’ as he referred to it had to be served at 6 bells, that was 7 am. Lunch was to be served at 8 bells which was 12 o’clock and supper was to be at 8 bells or at 8:00 p.m. as Ted proudly announced, "8 Bells into the first dog watch!" He would glance at the clock on the mantle piece, clear his throat dramatically, then declare, "Eight Bells! Time to pipe the hands to supper!" Even if dinner was only a minute late, he would grin, tap his watch, and mutter that standards were slipping. His routines never changed, but neither did the warmth and laughter he brought to his daughter's family. Once he had finished lunch, he would take his plate and cutlery into the kitchen and wash them clean, then leave to dry. On the week ends when the children were not attending school, he would invite them to go for a run ashore, which was the term for let’s go for a short walk around the village -green. Here he would tell them stories of pirates and those ruffians who made a living off the seas. When Henry asked him about his time in the Royal Navy, he would create an exciting story that would discretely drift off what young Henry wanted to hear. Mandy would always ask him if he wanted to do something different in the afternoon, but he would always smile at her.

“No, my dear, if you can get a copy of the Times newspaper, I would be grateful. Once the newspaper had been delivered, she would arrange the dinner table and spread the newspaper out for him. She would watch him as he carefully unfolded the paper opened it to page 8, then ask for a cup of tea. By the time she got back to him he had taken out his pocket-watch and made himself comfortable.

“Thank you my dear.” Was all he would say, and then he would start the crossword. Sometimes talking to himself.  Mandy would know that if she came back into the room after 10 minutes, he would be finished.  Only once could she remember that he had been stumped by a clue and had not finished the crossword. On that occasion he took Mandy and the children out and treated them to a Wimpy meal with a milk shake.  

     Uncle Ted quickly scanned the clues, then started. Mmm, the opposite to noise?  7 down. Silence.  Purpose of a scale. Balance?  The old Roman name for the capital of Britannia?  9 across, Londinium. What piece of material is awarded for the achievement in Epicurean? Michelin Star. No too many letters. Blue Ribbon.

 Perfect. He gradually ticked off the clues until he came to one that stumped him. The Latin name for Hedgehog? 

     He studied the blank wall wracking his brain for a good two minutes. Then out of nowhere he gave a satisfying grunt. 9 down, Erinaceus. 8 across. Total lack of light? Darkness. What name was the Irish Monk of the 6^th Century better known by?

Uncle Ted grinned. “that’s easy” he muttered to himself. Saint Brendon the navigator and the saint for sailors.”

    “Last clue.” He said quietly to himself. A Phantasmagoria when moved, a complex pattern of changing scene.

     He felt a shiver of ice-cold air rush through his body. He did something he rarely did, he started to panic. Then he glanced at the pocket-watch.  He had run out of time. No matter what he did, he could not answer the clue.

 

     Suddenly the door to the dining room burst open and little Clair came in carrying something in her hand.

    “Look Uncle Ted.  Mummy bought me a super present.”  She held up the Kaleidoscope.

      With a huge grin on his face, he bent down and hugged little Clair. “That’s it. My deal Clair you are a genius.  How did you know? 

      Hearing the commotion, Mandy came rushing into the room. “Oh I’m so sorry Ted, I thought you may have finished.”

      Still laughing, Uncle Ted stood up.  “No, it alright. I got stumped on the last clue until Clair came in and I recognised what she was holding in her hand. So I still completed the cross word but not in ten minutes.”

    “Tonight, we are eating out.  I am treating you all to a meal at Macdonald’s.”

 

Copyright Bob French 

Dolly

 Dolly

By Sis Unsworth

The Country girl has said goodbye, and left the world behind.

Such energy and love of life, like hers is hard to find.

The songs she sang, came from the heart expressing real deep feeling,

of a life from poverty to fame, were always so revealing.

A sense of humour so unique could brighten up your day.

It cost a lot to look this cheap, was something she would say.

Lots of other things she said, I’m sure will still remain

like if you want to find a rainbow, you must first have the rain.

So rest in peace dear Dolly, for even though you’re gone,

reflected in the songs you wrote, your memory will live on

 

Copyright Sis Unsworth

War, what is it good for?

War, what is it good for? Absolutely nothing.

Edwin Starr 1970

By Jane Scoggins

Words and music thrusting out from Classic Gold. It was the impetus John needed. He packed a bag. Not much, just essentials, enough to tide him over. Did he know what he was doing? Not really, but the bugle had sounded, and as a trained soldier he responded. It felt like an order. Sargent McCray had stood no nonsense. A good soldier could rise from his sleep and have his boots on ready to march in 10 seconds. No questions asked, just obey. Best way, no time to fear.

War, sang Edwin Starr, ain't nothing but a heart breaker, the destruction of innocent lives. Marching purposefully to the bus station, for the coach to Carlisle. Memories of the Duke of Lancaster Regiment. An army friend retired to Carlisle. Shared memories, beers, hot pot made by Maureen. Text messages sent to family at home. Message from Carol in Glasgow.

‘Yes, come and visit. You are halfway here already. Long time no see, big brother’

A coach to Glasgow. Warm sisterly hug on arrival. A drive to Partick. Chat and banter. Two days later, a proper conversation about things that matter. John in tears. Carol comforting. PTSD? Shaking head and smiling through damp eyes.

‘No, I've run away, I've deserted my post. I can't take any more’ Sister looks bewildered.

‘But you left the army years ago’

‘Not the army, I'm deserting my marriage. It's been a war zone for years, and we are both unhappy, but Julie won't listen, won't understand and criticises me day and night, belittles me. Two weeks ago she punched me in the face. I’ve nothing left to give. I'm tired of fighting; this war between us must come to an end, and I'm ending it. I’ve messaged her. She expects me back, but I'm surrendering and walking away from the battlefield once and for all.

Copyright, Jane Scoggins

the Challenge

Darkness, Balance, Silence, Hedgehog and Kaleidoscope.

By Marion Anthony

Here is my attempt at the Challenge. to include all five words in my story

Gina was a P.A in the catering business and was staying with her colleagues in a hotel near Bournemouth.

It was coming up to Christmas, and they were all very busy. Gina finished her latest assignment and took a break. She decided to go for a walk in a nearby forest. It was winter and the nights were drawing in.  In the Darkness, Gina had to find her balance and avoid the tree roots under her feet.

The Silence was eery! 

All of a sudden, a Hedgehog ran across her path and disappeared under a bush.

After a while, Gina could see a Kaleidoscope of colours as a fairground was just about half a mile away. She eventually climbed through a fence and onto a main road.

"Now to find my way back to the hotel", she thought to herself.

Gina walked down the road and came to a road sign that she recognised. I know where I am now, she thought, relieved. It was not long before she was back at the hotel. Gina got showered and changed. There was to be a meeting of officials to be held that evening. They had come to taste samples of dishes that were planned to be served on a River Cruise ship for Epicureans. The evening was very successful, and the team were congratulated.

Gina recalled her misadventure in the woods.

I won't be walking alone in the dark in future, she thought.

Copyright Marion Anthony - Aug 2026

Spoof Who Dunnit!

 Athica Crispy - Death by Cradle-light!

DRAFT FOR COMMENT - STORY UNDER CONSTRUCTION   

    “Inspector Pilchard sir, we have just received a telephone call from Lyle Hall of a suspicious death.”

    “A suspicious death, aye, Constable, at Lyle Hall? That’s the estate of Sir Crispin Blaze-Lyle, isn’t it? Out at Little Breythorpe?”

“Yes sir, apparently Sir Crispin was holding a literary soiree for writer types over the weekend. It’s A famously haunted house, is the hall. People come from miles around just to spend a night there, sir; they never come back, though! I’m told that Lady Athica Crispy is there giving a talk on…”

    “Do stick to the point, Perkins; just who has died and why it is suspicious? Yes, yes, man fetch a car, and bring the new Woolsey 14 round to the front of the station; an inspector, such as I, cannot be seen arriving in an old dented Standard 9. Quickly now, man!”

    “No, no, you drive Perkins. Oh, Perkins, must we bring Constable Bright? She hardly makes the right impression of modern policing. He then mumbled something about suffragettes and the King’s horse. “I, will sit in the back, thank you; it is only proper to my rank. And, on the way, you had better fill in the details, Perkins.”

    “Details, sir?” He was thinking about the young PC Clara Bright in the seat next to him.

“Of the case, man, do try to keep up!”

    The police constable had to crane his neck to speak to the inspector who had spread himself luxuriantly across the back seat. The smell of new leather and the walnut panelling made him feel right at home among people of quality, so different from the average ‘back street’ murderer ‘one normally has to deal with.’ He lit his pipe, closed his eyes with his head against the upholstery.

    “Please proceed, Constable.”

“Well, it’s like this, sir. It's the son and heir, just a nipper by all accounts, under a year old. The old boy didn’t ‘av any children on account of ‘is misses being well, lacking in that department. ‘Fand blue, he was, as a ripe blueberry ‘dis morning, he was, if ya takes my meaning sir."

“Came as a nasty shock I spect to the family what was about to inherit when the old boy, Sir Crispin, pops ‘is cloggs. They say he’s about 85, the old boy I mean, but he must ‘av got some ‘go’ still in ‘im, to get the maid in the family way and all. Big scandal it was; family couldn’t ‘ush it up, they couldn’t. But the old boy didn’t blush one bit, delighted ‘e was, changed ‘is will immediately leaving the nipper, the ‘ol blinkin lot, if you will ‘xcuse me French miss.”

    The tyres of the Woolsey crunched along a long gravel drive lined with old lime trees. The honey coloured sandstone of the house glowed in the morning sun. Windows sparkled as the car approached the front entrance. A maroon Lagonda Rapier and a Railton 8 Special, along with an assortment of Rolls-Royces and Bentleys, were parked nearby. A groundsman tending the shrubbery doffed his cap as the car approached. The inspector drank it all in. ‘Oh yes, this is more like it,’ he thought.

“I think you should remain silent whilst I interview Sir Crispin and his guests. You gather statements from staff, below stairs, and take young miss err, thingamy with you.” A butler came down the front steps to greet them as the car pulled up.

    “Perhaps you will be more comfortable coming in through the trade entrance sir, It is around the back, through that archway there, if you please, sir.” But as he was speaking, an old man bustled past him, trotting as best he could on thin, bandy legs. He was dressed in pyjamas, a burgundy dressing gown, and had obviously only just risen.

    “Inspector, inspector at last, come quickly, this way.” The wheezing old man took the officer by the arm and pulled him into the large entrance hall. Between gasps in his breath he said, “My son - my son is dead - this morning – when, when - nurse went to wake him - come quickly, please officer.”

    The inspector rather enjoyed striding through the large entrance hall with his black raincoat, bat-like flapping behind him; distinguished guests looked on. He might have said, “Step aside, professional Police inspector coming through,” but this, he thought, might sound a little pompous.

    “Take me to the child’s nursery”, he said, in a commanding voice, which echoed through that voluminous space. As he began to climb the steps of the grand staircase, he turned to address the onlookers, “No one may leave these premises until I give the say-so!” Several voices protested,

“Now look here, my man…” and “Do you know who I am, sir! I am…” But the inspector turned his back on them all and strode on up the staircase, thoroughly enjoying the drama of it all.

PLOTTING DRAFT

• The nursery

• The evidence presented. Exhibit A etc

• All are gathered in the morning room

  • The nephews and nieces are called

  • The tox report and post-mortem are brought in

• The staff set out the events leading up to the discovery

• The botched summation by the inspector

• All the armchair sleuths give their opinion

• Athic makes a blunder

• Various people are falsely accused: the maid, the butler, the nurse

• Constable Perkins solves the case

PLANNING DRAFT

The scene

1930’s - Large country house – Staff of: butler, cook, two housemaids and an old head gardener plus his son assistant.

The motive

If Sir Cuthbert had no children until well into his mid-80s, when he fathers a son by the maid. This disinherits nephews and nieces who were expecting to divide up the estate between them. They helped the ‘Old Man’ to devise a detailed will. On the arrival of an illegitimate son the will is revised in his favour.

The method: A bedside candle half, normal, but after burning for an hour it gives off a toxic vapour then goes back to normal, so if the stub is examined it is just normal candlewax. By an illegitimate son who works in the village shop that supplied candles to the house is not named in the new will. His mother was a maid in the household 35 years ago but was summarily dismissed when she fell pregnant. The whole thing was hushed up whilst Lady Blaze-Lyle was alive.

The nursery candles are scented with lavender, rosemary, chamomile, and lemon; this masks the scent of cyanide. (Like bitter almonds)

The clues:

A photo of the family and staff taken 34 years ago where Sir Cuthbert has his hand on the shoulder of one of the maids (aged about 18 at the time)

The red herrings:

• Poison in the baby’s milk - Suspect the nanny – Hates babies because she could never have one. Finger prints

• Suffocation by pillows - Suspect the maid – Mistreated by Sir Cuthbert

• Cot death, a natural tragedy

• Gassing from Gas lighting, the butler who sets the gas mantles.

• Frightened to death by seeing the ghost of Lyle Hall

• Intruders. No, the maid said the windows were locked tight.

The victim: The baby who would inherit the title and a vast fortune following the death of  Sir Cuthbert ??

The scene of the crime: The children’s nursery, Lyle Hall, the family estate overlooking the sea off Purbeck Island coast. Because of fear of the dark in the haunted building, a candle was always placed in the nursery at night.

Quirks of Sir Cuthbert: didn’t trust electricity, all windows had to be sealed shut at night, at least one candle had to be lit at night.

The date: 1934: before electricity was installed. Sir Cuthbert did not trust electricity. Gas lighting was used. The house was said to be haunted; Sir Cuthbert, who is mortally afraid of the dark, insisted on having a candle burning in the room of his son.

The list of suspects:

• The child's nanny, known to hate children. She lost her own when young and always hated other people’s children.

• The distant cousin who came to visit. He would have inherited the fortune but for the birth of this child.

• The Butler, who knew Lord Crispin's hidden secrets; there is some suspicion that he was Blackmailing Sir Cuthbert,

• The family solicitor who drew up the new will. He also had access to the family fortune.

Sir Cuthbert: in his early 80s, it's made in dubious circumstances. He married the maid nine months before the child was born.

The Police

• The police inspector: Pompous, Slow witted, but highly self-confident

• His sergeant: DC Perkins. Often drunk

• PC Clara Bright. The real brains behind the inspector

• Lady Athica Crispy: The well known crime slooth writer, but incompetent. Staying as a guest of Sir Crispin.

Copyright: Christopher Mathews 

The Appointment

 The Appointment at 08:41 & 26 seconds

By Christopher Mathews

   “Late again for the school run and a broken fingernail too, why is my life so unfair! Perhaps I can fit in the nail salon after dropping off Porcha and Miles, then on to the boutique for my first appointment. Typical, it’s raining, my hair will be ruined.”

    The irony of a black 4.2 litre, top of the range Land Rover that had never seen a muddy field now stuck in the morning traffic had entirely escaped Tiffany. Her day was a frenetic schedule of frivolous and joyless appointments. She had this in common with her circle of ‘friends’, or were they simply competitors?

    She was approaching the busy, town centre interchange, which is always snarled up with impatient drivers and pedestrians. Driving at fits and starts through the traffic, she did the arithmetic in her head “My first appointment is 9:30 so I just have time for…”

    Her mobile rang on the seat next to her. From the corner of her eye she saw it was Jasmin.

   “It must be urgent, she normally texts me, no one about, I’ll just…” She looked down and reached for her phone but at that moment the lights changed to red and…

        At 98, Jack had lived through at least six different communities in his lifetime, but always in the same house, his parent’s house, the one where he was born. As a small boy, his town was little more than a rural village with a distinct Essex character. It was then swallowed up and became overspill from the Eastend, and later became gentrified by city traders escaping their frantic London life. Most recently, other people from all over the world came and setup little outposts of their home countries, many arriving in small boats. He felt like a man who was now living in a foreign language film, which made no sense to him. Most recently, his Highstreet was lined with overstaffed Turkish barber shops, which never had customers. They all stood in a row with the occasional vape shop and of course nail salons, the rest were charity shops or garishly signed takeaways. There seemed to be no ‘real shops’ like a baker’s, butchers or tobacconists anywhere.

        “I’ve travelled the world without leaving my house, I have!” Jack used to say to his old dog Shep. All his friends were now gone and his children moved away. Today he was clutching a letter from hospital which read;

    Your follow-up consultant appointment has been arranged for 10:32am on 28^th September. Please attend the neurology department to discuss the results of your scan, arrive early.

    Please complete the online questionnaire before attending. This can be accessed by entering your NHS number, username and ID via our online portal which can be found on the NHS website.

    You may benefit from the advice/comfort provided by our new AI generated    ‘patient’s friend helpline,’ via the above website to help you cope with your condition…

    This meant very little to Jack, and although he read the letter several times, it seemed to be written in a different language.

    He had very few pleasures left in life and no companionship now his beloved Florence was gone. Ever since he could remember he had walked to the corner where Mumbles the gentleman’s outfitters used to stand to buy a paper and a tin of tobacco.  It was now a busy intersection, a bewildering rush of traffic. Like himself, everything Jack owned, was old, tired and slow, he felt like an old 78-gramophone playing in a 33 ^1/3rd world. Shep, his old dog was now much slower too.  Even the news paper made little sense to him, but old habits…

    His mid-terraced house in Weaver Street was like an old leather-bound book in a shelf full of glossy paperbacks. He now approached the junction with a sinking feeling of apprehension. When he was a boy, he felt a thrill of excitement here in the heart of the town. In his youth, this was where the whole town met, everyone stopped as drovers took their sheep to market through here. Once, one of Mr McGregor’s pigs got loose and ran into the church! The Blacksmith’s hammer once rang out like a Church bell and the Town Crier sang out the news. The smell of freshly baked bread once filled the air, now it’s just car fumes, and foreign languages. On Sundays the whole town was silent and at rest, but now everyday the same, full of noise. Above the sound of traffic, costermongers could be heard singing out their poetic chant,

   “Three for a Cockney Hen or four for a Commodore.” A street market was held here every Wednesday for as long as he could remember. But nothing like what it was when he was a boy. Mostly, dodgy traders selling tat now. But never ask, where it comes from.

    At 08:41 & 18 seconds, the lights changed, pedestrians rushed across the road like sprinters at a starting pistol, umbrellas shielding their faces from the stinging rain. Jack hesitated, slowly taking in the bewildering scene as a pack of strangers seemed to be rushing towards him. Stepping aside he politely waited before he started crossing. Too slow, at 8:41 & 26 seconds a screech of car wheels on wet road, a black Land Rover, an inattentive driver and Jack was…

    A crazy man wearing a sandwich board stood on the corner, his banner, high above his head read;

“…It is appointed unto men once to die, but after this, the judgment.”

For Jack, that final appointment had been postponed - for now.

 

Copyright, Christopher Mathews. September 2023

 

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

 BEAUTY AND THE BEAST 

Peter Woodgate 

She is an epicurean

Of that there is no doubt

Wears clothes from posh Kaleidoscope

On the catwalk she will pout.

 

She has a perfect balance

Up and down the aisle each day

The audience watch in silence

They don’t know what to say.

 

As each day turns into darkness

She undresses in front of the mirror

In horror she sees the honest truth

There reflected an ugly gorilla.

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate