WHO IS THIS MAN?

 

WHO IS THIS MAN?

Write a characterisation based on this image. Between 500 and 1000 words.

A Day Remembered

A beautiful Spring day, and the pretty village was buzzing with activity. A stranger in the village always got noticed by the well-heeled ladies who lunch and shop at their leisure. So when Megan parked her car and started to walk along the High Street there were sidelong glances. They were discreet looks, and Megan was not at all aware. An affluent area, the hanging baskets around and about were stuffed full and overflowing with the abundance of narcissi, pansies, crocus and primroses. She had read in a magazine at the hairdressers that there was a new bridal shop recently opened that sold beautiful dresses, some handmade. She had driven the 12 miles from home to have a look. She was not familiar with the village, but liked what she saw as she started to casually stroll. Bigger than she had anticipated, the High Street had a number of well-presented independent shops. When she saw the pale pink and white paintwork of Wedding Belles, she looked in the window and was immediately blown away by the dress on display. Pure white lace and silk with such gorgeous embroidered detail, and tiny pearls on the bodice. She could not help but stand and take it all in for several minutes. The dress of her dreams. Without hesitation, she stepped inside the shop and was greeted by the young woman at the desk, adjusting pale pink roses in a crystal vase. The lighting was soft and the carpet cream and luxurious. Megan was relieved she had dressed smartly and paid attention to her clothes, hair and makeup. She felt she had stepped into another world of exclusivity, a fairytale, and was so happy. The young woman stepped forward and welcomed Megan with a smile. Megan could not think of anything to say except ‘Wow, I love your shop’ as she surveyed the velvet armchair and wedding dresses hanging on a rail under the soft light of a crystal chandelier. Feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush, Megan felt a bit overwhelmed. She had waited so long for this day when she would walk into a bridal shop and be surrounded by glorious dresses in such luxurious surroundings. But she had not anticipated the strength of her emotion. 

The young woman Carolyn, was clearly pleased by the impact on Megan and, smiling, replied ‘Thank you, I have dreamed for the last two years of opening my own bridal shop. My Grandmother lives in the village, and when she told me this shop had become vacant, I knew it would be perfect. It has taken me three months to prepare and decorate, and I love it. Three hard months, as I did it mostly by myself. I do some of the sewing and alterations too, so I am a Jack, or should I say Jill, of all trades. Her tinkle of happy laughter was infectious, and Megan relaxed. Before long Megan had looked at all the dresses on the rail and asked if she could try two of her favourites, together with the one in the window. Carolyn was really helpful and attentive, giving her lots of encouragement and telling her, quite truthfully, that she looked lovely. Two of the dresses would need a little adjustment if she were to choose one of them, but Carolyn, with a pincushion on her wrist, was on hand to pin and tuck and assure her that the alterations could be done very easily within a day. Feeling more confident, Megan asked if she could try on a veil and a crystal tiara. Carolyn was immediately at her side with a selection, delighted that a sale was almost certain. Megan really did look good in her dresses and was thinking she would ask her if she could take some photos for her promotional material. Megan could not quite decide on which dress she liked most, so agreed to return the following week to try them on again.

Outside the shop, Megan was still on cloud 9 as she walked to where she had parked the car.

Sitting quietly before starting the ignition, she thought about how she had dreamt for a long time about the day she would choose a beautiful wedding dress, choose the perfect venue and reception and walk down the isle as a bride. She was still deep in her thought when her mobile phone rang in her handbag. It was her mother.

‘Megan? Where are you?

‘I’m out in the car, why? There was a pause before her mother replied

‘Because you were supposed to be back here nearly an hour ago’

‘Oh, sorry Mum, time just slipped away’

‘Well, hurry back, will you. I've been worried about you’

‘I’m OK, Mum, really I am’

‘OK, love, but hurry up so we aren’t late’

‘Late?

‘Yes, for the church..You know, Martin’s memorial service?’

Silence

‘Are you there, Megan?’

‘Yes, Mum, I’m on my way’

Megan slumped in the seat and felt her emotions rise to the surface, and she became tearful.

As soon as she was composed, Megan drove home, and her mother greeted her with a hug and a cup of tea, before they sombrely set off for the church.

Sandwiched between her Mum and Dad, Megan wept into a series of handkerchiefs passed to her by her mother throughout the service. The music and the flowers were beautiful, and Megan almost felt it could be a setting for a wedding.

After the service, she stood with her parents as family and friends came over to speak to her. She tried to make sense of it all as she heard them speak in hushed tones

‘So sorry, Megan’

‘ I’m here for you, Meg, if you need me’

‘Sorry for your loss, Megan.

‘ Martin will always be remembered love’

‘He was a good man, Megan, and loved you so much’

‘Such a tragedy Meg, he will be remembered in my prayers’

The words washed over her and taking her arm, Megan’s Mum led her to the car and home.

In her bedroom, Megan was left to rest, she seemed shell-shocked, although it had been a month since her fiancé had died in a tragic accident. They had been together six years.

There would be no one else for her, she was certain. He had always been the only one for her. She thought of the bridal shop and the joy that had been snatched away from her. She would never go back to that beautiful shop. What had she been thinking? Her dreams of being a bride would never be fulfilled. Her memories of those beautiful dresses and her joy of trying them on would be her only memory of what was not to be.

Copyright Jane Scoggins – October 2026

Summer of 69

 Summer of 69

By Jane Goodhew

Shakespeare may have written about our Winter of Discontent but for me, I prefer to remember the summer of free concerts and love in the Royal Parks in London.   It was 7^th June 1969 when four of us made our way to Hyde Park, the sun shone and over 100,000 people attended without any fights or disruptions just music, peace and love.    It was to herald the birth of the super group of rock and roll, Blind Faith whose members were like a list of Whose Who in music.

Eric Clapton guitarist, who it has been said was not happy with their performance due to lack of rehearsals.    Ginger Baker with his flame red hair was on drums, known from the Cream and Stevie Winwood vocalist from Traffic and also an organist. Then Rich Grech from the Family.   Unfortunately for them although they went individually to become famous Blind Faith only lasted a short time before disbanding.  Yet no one can take away the memories of their first ‘gig’ even if they were not sure of its success.  For those there it was brilliant.  How can anyone forget Ginger Baker with his mop of flaming red hair as he bashed away on his drums or Eric Clapton who appeared to be both unsure and yet confident in front of 100-125,000 people.  They did not perform until after 5pm but the crowd just waited patiently enjoying the lead up to it with Donovan making an impromptu appearance and Mick Jagger and his then girlfriend Marianne Faithful amongst the crowd at the back of the stage. ‘Under my Thumb’ being sung in recognition of Mick’s presence and Mick would later that year have his own concert at Hyde Park but for me this was my first and last.

                        

                                     

I do not remember the other bands although Richie Havens, Edger Broughton Band and Third Ear Band played, I have to confess I haven’t a clue as to any songs they may have sung that day or since.   I was more into Talma Motown but had gone along for the experience and will never regret doing so.   The 60s were a memorable time even if ‘they ‘whoever ‘they’ are, say if you remember it then you were not really there.   I was there throughout the whole decade but that day of blue skies, the occasional cloud, sunshine and peace was the most memorable.

The 60s were remembered by many for flower power, hippies and free love but I was still in my mid-teens and more into freedom and ‘love’ in the broadest sense of the word as I was very much one of life’s innocents.  I doubt if my parents even knew where I was as I had a fairly Victorian upbringing in many ways as my dad would turn the TV off if anyone so much as kissed which as we mainly watched The News, Panorama, University Challenge, Coronation Street and Dad’s Army in those days there was not much to offend his sensitive mind or corrupt his children!  I somehow think if he had known where I was going I probably would not have been allowed and my mother had been known to lock me in my bedroom.  Rather a waste of time as we lived in a bungalow and I was more than capable of climbing out of the window.

I can still see our merry little band as we met outside Leigh Station to get the train to London and find our way across to Hyde Park.  Until about a decade ago I thought a throng of a few thousand had attended but it was well over 100,000.  It hardly gained a mentioned in the newspapers although the DJ John Peel thought it was the best of the Free Concerts that took part in the Royal Parks.   It was almost as if it had been a hazy dream, I had worn a bright red French Connection jumper and a very short mini skirt, the love beads, long dresses and hair which I hid behind came later in the 70s.  But this was the end of the 60s and as we all packed together in the midday sun I began to appreciate how warm it was and Mick not of the Jagger fame kindly removed his bright yellow shirt and let me wear it.  

I can still remember, not every moment but if I close my eyes can be transported back there and feel the warmth not just from the sun but all those that were there that day.  The small stage swamped by the group and their equipment, the inadequate speakers which meant the noise levels were not too loud which suited me.  I sometimes wonder what became of Mick and his yellow shirt or the others that made up our little band of freedom lovers.  I know my friend Sue who I kept in touch with through the decades sadly died in 2015 but I still see her sat in the Park, smiling and enjoying the moment as I sit in my own little park with the sun shining but instead of Blind Faith I hear the song of the birds, the buzz of the bee and the hum of the lawn mower in the distance and the radio blaring out from next door but I block that out and remember that day, No Winter of Discontent for me…

Copyright Jane Goodhew

 

                                    

THE REUNION?

 THE REUNION

Marion Anthony

 Jimmy sat on the train reminiscing about the time when he was evacuated with his younger sister Alice.
The smell of the smoke from the engine brought back such sad memories of him saying goodbye to his dear mother at Paddington Station. There was commotion and confusion amongst the crowds of sobbing children and tearful mother's. It was all so daunting!

He had not only had to contend with his own sorrow but also that of his sister, Alice who was four years younger. There were of course helpers on the train that tried to console the children at this particular sad time.

Jimmy was taken by the hand and led away with a helper. He became separated from Alice. He spent four years with his adopted family and never returned home to London to be reunited with his family. He stayed in Coventry and was educated there, by the end of the war.

That was forty two years ago. He searched for Alice through different agencies and services. It was amazing how quickly he received a letter telling him that a contact had been found.

He wrote to Alice after finding her address in Leeds. Their emotions emerged in the letters they exchanged, they were heartwarming and consoling.

Now suddenly here he was at Coventry Station, sitting on a train, similar to the one that Had brought him here in 1942.

The train started off and the smell of smoke through the carriage windows, reminded him of his sorrow at leaving their dear mother. He was on his way to Leeds to meet Alice. They had been parted for the past forty two years.

He had seen photographs of Alice, her husband and three children but only Alice would be there to greet him today.
He was alone in the world now after losing his dear wife Emily to cancer two years earlier; they had no children.

The train slowed as it pulled into Leeds Station. He pulled his coat on, collected his bag and left the train…

Copyright Marion Anthony

 

Sounds…

 Sounds…  (Flash Fiction)

Len Morgan

As I waited for the bus, I listened to the sounds all around. Conversations, different engine sounds as a variety of vehicles passed by. 

“So I said to her…”

Phut~pop~phat~Pop~phut, a small single-stroke moped engine propelled an overweight man in his twenties.  He looked slightly ludicrous in his dads 1950s crash helmet, goggles, and gloves.

“I don’t give a shit!"  

"Don’t contradict me when…” 

A council lorry rattled by, filled with rubble & hardcore.  The noise rose to a deep thrumming vibration that overcame all other sounds, before slowly melting into the general background…

“Jody you're so Fuckin…”

NEE NAW NEE NAW... an ambulance demonstrated the Doppler effect as it sped by.

“Don’t call me ’shit fer brains’ you moron!”

An ice cream van went by playing music to ‘I love to go a wandering…’

Slap! “You bitch…” 

The bus arrived smelling of diesel, rattle, rattle, rattle, >swiiish>~ the door slid open and I stept on, followed by Jody and the moron rubbing his red cheek. I took a seat.  The door closed, the bus jerked into motion.

“The next stop will be Castlemere Drive…”

I put on my earbuds and tuned into: ‘baby you can drive my car…’

Len

THE SWINGING SIXTIES 2

 THE SWINGING SIXTIES 

By Peter Woodgate

        Today I visited the scenes of my youth.

Paused, in the playground of my dreams and recalled,

               The swinging sixties.

 

The magic of Motown the Beatles and Stones

The Mods wearing mohair the Rockers in jeans.

 

Kensington High, Carnaby Street, and

The Kings Road for clothes and shoes for your feet.

 

The fashion of Quant, the hair of Sassoon,

The “Space race” was on, who’d be first to the moon?

 

The Beehive, the Minis, both car and the skirt,

The thin pointed shoes and button-down shirt.

 

The coffee all frothy the juke box alight,

You put in your money and danced through the night.

 

In sport, so it seemed, we were on the way up,

Euphoria struck when we won the World Cup.

 

I felt indestructible was joyful not sad,

My thoughts were of good ignoring the bad.

 

For I had a future no one good destroy,

I’d grown into a man from that small timid boy

 

 

Yes there was turmoil,  assassins and war,

But life was for living, it wasn’t a chore.

 

And so as I travelled through life’s ups and downs,

I remained optimistic with smiles and with frowns.

 

But as seasons pass quickly we tend to look back,

And I wandered those streets seeking something I lack.

 

So I sat on that seat, suspended by chain,

And gently pushed back, ……….I was swinging again.

     

Copyright Peter Woodgate

The swinging sixties 1

  

 I well remember the swinging sixties

By Bob French

I had been at the legal firm of Sedgwick and Humphries for six months and my employment review was coming up in three weeks’ time, so I was on my best behaviour. Even though I had gained two GCE Advance level passes, smarty and creepy pants Simon Smith had gained three GCE Advanced level passes and if that was not enough his uncle was one of the board members., so I knew I had to be particularly cunning and where possible, discredit the creep without attaching any blame to myself especially as there were only three candidates for one slot.

*****

          As I approached the tube station a young lad thrust one of the free London newspapers into my chest.  Without changing pace, I quickly folded it and stuffed it into my pocket, promising I would read it on the tube home, but didn’t as it was too crowded.  Then I remembered that Friday night was my favourite TV time when Coronation Street, followed by Eastenders was on the tele.

          As I made myself comfortable in front of the box, the telephone in the hall went off.  It was Graham, one of the lads who played in the same five a side footy team down at the gym on Sundays.

          “Yo, Billy, you still on for the game tomorrow at Frank’s place?”

          Frank, and Graham were my mates and we had planned to sit and watch the FA World Cup final on tele tomorrow afternoon.

          “Try and stop me you wazzuk.”

          “You still bringing the beers?”

          “Yep and I might bring some Pepsis.  You still buying the pizzas?”

          “Yeh, Is Harry coming? or has his bird got her talons into him and taken him shopping or something?”

          “Pass.  See you at two tomorrow mate.” Then the phone went dead.

          As I waited for Coronation Street to come on, I picked up the free London newspaper and quickly thumbed through it, only to stop and turn back a page. Tom Jones, The Rolling Stones and The Who were all on at the Palladium.  There was a number and before I had realised what I had done, I was through to the ticket office.

          “I’m terribly sorry but we sold the last ticket this morning.  I fell silent and closed my eyes.  My world had just come to an end as I gave a quiet groan.

          “Are you sure there is nothing left.  I have been waiting to watch these groups for ages.  Please could you have another look.”  Silence filled the telephone pressed against my ear, then her voice was on the phone.  I had already crossed my fingers and legs in hope that she might find an unsold ticket.

          “Hello.  Are you there?”

          “Yes, yes, I’m here.”

          “Look this is not supposed to happened, but I can squeeze you into the mosh pit if that’s all right?”

          “The mosh pit? Where’s that?”

          “It’s a wide-open space directly in front of the stage.  The view is brilliant, but the sound is deafening and at times it can get very violent.  On average, at least three or four people are carried out by the St. Johns Ambulance guys.

          A voice inside my head was already telling me to buy the ticket, but there was something in the back of my mind telling me not to.  Before I realised, I had told the young lady that I would buy the ticket. When I put the phone down, I felt as though I was on top of the world.

          Monday morning came and I woke with a funny feeling.  As though I had forgotten something important. I put it down to England beating West Germany, then remembered that I only had four beers and didn’t pass out, which was my usual party trick.

          It wasn’t until I sat and mindlessly watched the suburbs of London flash past my window on my way to work that it hit me and I swore out loud, causing a number of commuters to turn and stare at me. I had promised Mandy that I would take her to the Chinese Golden Dragon, one of the most prestige restaurants in the West End, for her birthday.  Which was on the same day as my great night out at the Palladium.

          I tried several excuses, but she rejected all of them and I could see the writing on the wall; Another failed relationship.  If this keeps up, I think I’ll try for the priesthood down at Ealing Abbey.  I laughed, but felt a horrible feeling that this future employment as a monk might actually come true, especially if I didn’t get the job at Sedgwick and Humphries.

          As the date of the gig drew nearer so my concentration started to wander.  All I could think about, was standing in the pit at arms-length from the groups on stage and sucking in the vibes, the music and the surroundings. Four hours of uninterrupted bliss I thought.

          Then at five thirty on the Friday before the gig, Simon and I were called into Mr. Sedgwick’s office, to be told that the third contender had pulled out leaving just us two.

          “I know it is at short notice, but the panel wants to put you under pressure, so I want you to write a 5000-word thesis on how to improve the office mail system by nine o’clock on Monday morning.

          “Excuse me Sir, do you mean this coming Monday morning?”

          Mr Sedgwick frowned at me. “Are you alright? Of course I mean Monday. If I asked you to have it done by a fortnight’s time it would defeat the point of putting you under pressure.”  His voice rose in volume matching his frustration with me.   

          At that point in my life, I felt that my prospects as a monk looked more attractive.

          I arrived at the door of the Palladium in good time, and once I showed my ticket, the usher told me to make my way down to the very front of the theatre.  When I got there the place was nearly full, so I just pushed my way in.  My eye caught a smart looking blond in a Twiggy mini skirt  and introduced myself.

          “Hello, my name is Bill. Have you come for the Stones?”

          “Jill, as she extended her hand.  No, Tom Jones.” Then suddenly the lights dimmed and the warm-up band, AC/DC, started and I noticed that those in the Mosh pit simply stood and stared.  When they finished, they made their exit and the trouper spot lights started to spin and flash across the stage as though winding up the expectations of what was to come. Suddenly the lights landed on Tom Jones as he appeared and the whole theatre erupted as he started to sing, then swing his hips causing the volume in the theatre, including the pit, exploded into one massive scream of hysteria.

          Part way through his routine, he started to move closer to the pit.  This ignited my wild and hysterical colleagues to rush towards the stage. A tall girl with pink hair barged past me; stopped, lifted her mini skirt, slipped off her knickers and threw them at Tom. I was a little shock having had a very conservative upbringing when it came to female relationships. Then I caught sight of Jill as she made her way towards me.  Without so much as an excuse me, she grabbed my shoulder and seem to be tugging at me. As I looked down, I could see that she was pulling down her knickers and was very unstable, so I leant into her and held her as she slipped out of them, then turned me around and lent on my back whilst she wrote her telephone number on them, then rushed towards the stage and threw her knickers at Tom, who caught them and smiled back at her. Everywhere I looked there were women frantically pulling down their knickers and throwing them onto the stage.

          Jill turned to me. “Come on then, get your Shreddies off.”

          Before I could protest, three of her mates had joined in the chant, so I quickly slipped my jeans off and pulled down my Spiderman underpants and threw them at Tom.  I was sure he pulled a frowned look at me. As I stood there with my John Thomas hanging in the wind, Jill laughed.

          “First time then” as she lifted her miniskirt to reveal a second pair of knickers. The night seemed to get more volatile as the crowds moved down into the isles and the hail of female garments increased. 

          On the tube back home that night I felt that I had fulfilled my dream, a dream I will remember for the rest of my days.

          At nine o’clock on Monday morning, I lay in my bed thinking of Simon, as he presented his thesis to old man Sedgwick and smiled.

          Then Jill turned over and gave me a long soft kiss. “Do you want breakfast again you naughty boy?”

 Copyright Bob French