The Meeting.

The Meeting.

As a cub reporter, I was expected to accompany a seasoned hack and take photos and movie shots with the Herald's digital camera.  I'd not been trained in its use, the editor just threw it to me together with the manual.

"Here kid, you're a gadgets man, get your mind around that; you're covering the Council meeting with Ted.  So, bring back some content for the website."

I took them as if I knew what I was doing and asked, "what do you have in mind boss?"

"I'll leave that up to you son, ten minutes of video and some stills aught to do it.  I would suggest you shoot thirty minutes then you can edit it and upload the best bits to the website, okay?"

"Okay boss," I said shouldering the camera like a pro.

.-...-.

 I'd been taken on two months earlier as a gofer; favour to my grandpa who in his day was the Herald's ace reporter, he's been retired for five years now but is still highly respected by the older hacks.  I'd been making coffee and running errands for the first three weeks.  So, I offered to help out with IT while the regular computer expert was on holiday.  The older reporters less savvy with the technology would call on me for help.

"Hey boy, can you take a look at my keyboard, it says I have 'sticky keys', but they all seem fine to me."

"Hey kid, my content just vanished can you get it back for me?"

"Gofer!  My mouse isn't working properly, can I have a replacement."

"My screens locked up..."

"It's broke..." 

Get the picture?  When Greg the IT man returned, as a reward for helping out, they sent me out to cover a story with Ray Scott the sports reporter.  

"Meet me at the City ground at 2pm tomorrow kid, here's your press pass.  Take your notepad & Pen and the mobile phone you were issued with, don't forget to charge it up overnight." he said.  "A reporter has to be prepared for anything, just like a boy scout."

So there I was outside the ground when Ray called me up on his mobile.  

"Sorry kid, my car's broke down on the M4, there's nobody else available so you'll have to cover the match for me.  Phone in your report to the main desk, (speed dial 01), as soon as the match is finished.  Do it before leaving the ground, so it makes the late edition!  Best of luck," there was a 'Click' then silence.  

My report must have been acceptable because on Monday morning I was offered the position of cub reporter; that was effectively an apprenticeship.  It meant I would get paid, but I had to attend college three nights a week and shadow the regular newshounds.  I was on cloud nine.

.-...-.

So off I went camera in hand, accompanied by Ted Marshall the local affairs reporter, to cover a routine monthly Council meeting at the town hall.  It was a hot sunny day, Ted drove in silence as I struggled to read the English section of the manual.  I left the manual in the car sure that what I didn't know, I could pick up as I went along.

"This is it, kid," we entered the front entrance and went into the chamber room where the meetings are held. 

The council was already in session, so I took some shots of the councillors.  I hadn't covered the flash section in the manual, but there was a domed glass roof allowing plenty of light to enter from above, and beams of sunlight came through slits in the closed blinds at the windows.  I took my stills and sat with the camera propped on a beanbag so it could be operated with the remote control.  I plugged earphones into the jack to monitor the sound and sat back to observe how Ted operated, as he took out his notebook and pencil.

"Meetings are always boring, nothing much gets done, but they have to justify their attendance fee, so they all say something, just to get into the 'minutes of the meeting' are you recording?" Ted asked.

 I checked "Yep," I said, pressing record.  He was right the meeting was boring, voices droned on and on and...

"Hey kid, you can wake up now, the meeting is over."

"Mmm uh?" I woke with a start.  The camera was tilted at a 45-degree angle, I stopped the recording and we headed back to the office.

"You slept for an hour and a half!  Wish I'd done the same." He grinned "you didn't miss a thing."

.-...-.

Back at the office, I viewed the results of an hour and a half of recording.  I felt sick.  The sound was muffled, I couldn't understand a word, the camera had fallen asleep at about the same time I had.  Dust motes made fascinating patterns as they passed in and out of sunbeams, as the camera slid slowly from vertical to horizontal in answer to gravity's pull.  A disaster!  I was gonna be sacked for sure.  No other self-respecting newspaper would ever employ me, not even as a gofer.  Then I saw Greg approaching and my heart sank even further, ridicule, humiliation, what would grandpa say when he heard how I'd let him down, as he surely would...

"Hi kid, did you get some exciting footage for us?"  I looked at him stricken with terror, ran for the toilets; locking the closet door, close to tears.

"Idiot, idiot, idiot!" I yelled.  Nobody came to see where I was, an hour passed, then I heard the door open.

"Well kid, I just viewed what you got.  It's not as bad as you think, in fact, it's verging on genius with a little judicious editing, from moir of course, come on out of there and give me a hand."  

.-...-.

Three hours later I was called into the editor's office for a debriefing and I wasn't looking forward to it.

"Your only real mistake son was in leaving the earphone jack plugged in.  A seasoned user checks the sound is okay then unplugs it.  If you'd done that the whole boring meeting would have been recorded, meaningless twaddle according to Ted.  Your sound was about as good as it got."  He smiled.  All things considered, you did a damned fine job.

"Let me show you the edited footage," said Greg switching on the video.  
The titles rolled:

Council Meeting 21/10/2014. 

 The picture was upright, showing the council members in landscape, then in panorama as the camera slewed slowly, then gradually the angle changed from 90 to 75 to 60 then 45 degrees.  The Councillors disappeared, stage left, and the sunbeams came into view.  Dust motes crisscrossed meaningfully in slomo, as unintelligible voices droned on and on...   I became aware that the pictures had slowly switched from colour to black & white.  Animated, shadows gesticulated on the floor, as the camera continued its unfettered mobilization.  Muffled voices raised in anger, followed by 'here here's', then more voices, and the camera toppled further, and further...  
finally It stopped.  A voice said clearly.  "No more business?  I therefore declare this meeting closed!"

"We can't put that on the website," I gasped, "they'll sue."

"Too late, It's already out there," the editor smiled.  "The Mayor says it's the most entertaining recorded council meeting he's seen in thirty years.  It's a classic!"

As I left the editors office, my fellow workers stood up and applauded, Ted was sporting an especially broad grin as he patted me enthusiastically on the back.

ends.

Prescient

Prescient

Adam Quest, Psychiatrist in residence, silenced his pager and read the scrolling message:  Dr AQ 2rm24~patient S.Odell.  He winced, he'd not been looking forward to this one, but it couldn't be put off.  The time had come for Sarah's reality check.

.-...-.

She stood at the window, gazing into a cloudless sky.  Dust motes danced unheeded through shafts of bright sunlight entering through the blinds.

"It's a glorious day," he said.

"There's a storm coming," she replied.

He stood beside her shading, his eyes from the suns glare. "There is?"

"I know these things," she said.

"Or you listen to the weather forecast perhaps?"  She didn't reply.  "Shall we sit?" He pulled up a chair for her.

"Not using the comfy couch today?" She didn't move from the window, so he sat down, facing the empty seat.

"How are we today?"

"I'm well thank you, but you will not be if you keep your lunch appointment at 'Gordino's'."

"What have you heard," he spoke in his routine unflappable voice.  He'd arranged to meet his fiance at 'Gordino's' at 2pm.  He'd booked a quiet table for two in the rear.

"Call her and tell her to meet you somewhere else, as far from that restaurant as possible." He ignored her outburst and began writing up her notes.  "Wasting my breath aren't I?  You'll go right ahead regardless of what I say..."

"Hmm," he grunted, shifting in his seat.

"Well I've warned you, so my conscience is clear."

"My dining arrangements are none of your concern.  Now can we proceed please?"

She turned to face him, her auburn hair swishing past her face like an opening curtain, revealing full vermilion lips and deep blue, hypnotic eyes.  She shook her head, "such a waste."

"I'm well aware that you are a voluntary patient.  You can come and go as you please; I have to believe that you want your condition to improve.  So, sit down and let's get started."

She sat, leaning towards him across the table. "It isn't to late, she will understand, just call her!" she spoke in earnest.

"Moderate your voice please, or we will have security arriving from all quarters."

"I'm sorry, Doctor--, Sorry."

"That's better.  If we both keep cool heads we will make progress," he glanced at her notes.  "Now according to your notes, you claim to be 'prescient'?  Can you describe to me how the condition manifests itself."

She smiled, revealing even white teeth, her eyes sparkled drawing him in, "It's quite simple.  I have flashes - like waking dreams - I see something that is going to happen in the future.  Usually, I have no idea when or where the event will take place."

"Mmm, I must say as a predictive tool it's hardly laser technology." he gazed into her earnest eyes.  "So, tell me how it impinges on your life, and what you would like me to do about it?"  His pencil poised, an inch above her notes, its hard dark shadow softened and disappeared.  He heard raindrops against the window; gentle at first, they grew rapidly louder masking her reply.

"Did you know I got disqualified from driving?"

"I'm sorry?" He said.

"I was disqualified from driving," she repeated, her words punctuated by flashes of lightning.  A sharp clash of thunder followed 15 seconds later.

"I had a flash in the middle of the M25 motorway and wrote off my lovely little Ford Fiesta."  He nodded without looking up.  "The judge said I was driving 'without due care and attention'.  Apparently, I was weaving drunkenly in and out of the traffic; I explained it was because I'd had a flash, so he gave me a six month suspended jail sentence and banned me from driving, pending a psychiatric report, he also gave me 6 points on my driving license and a £250 fine." She gave him a wane smile and a resigned shrug. The sky brightened again; the storm had passed over, as quickly as it arrived.

"So, what exactly do you want me to do?" He asked.  

"Why stop them of course, stop the flashes.  The first happened six months ago.  The second happened six weeks after the first.  Then there was a week between the second, third, and fourth.  Now, I'm getting them once or twice a day without warning.  They have destroyed my career, I've had to give up a well-paid job because I can't trust myself."

"Why do you think you are getting these f-- 'waking dreams'?"

"If I knew that I would be happier.  It's not knowing that scares me."

"Has your G.P. checked you out?"  She nodded.  "Did he send you to hospital for tests, in case there is a physical cause?"

"A scan, blood test and ECG, yes.  They found nothing abnormal, no growths or hormonal imbalance just slightly raised blood pressure nothing to cause alarm."

"So, all the preparation work has been done.  Hmm.  So we know it isn't a physiological anomaly."  He took an instrument from his pocket and raised it to his eye.  "Look at the light please," he examined her eyes, "no aberrations there," he closed the blinds, and noticed that the rain had stopped and the sun was shining once again.  He dimmed the room lights.  "Join me over here please," she sat on the couch beside him.

"Have you ever been hypnotized?"

"No, I thought it was just theatrical hocus-pocus," she said.

"Well, it's not the universal panacea we in the profession had hoped for, but it does have its uses."

"Are you going to put me under?"

"Would you have any objection to that?"

She thought for a moment--  He waited.  "No."

"I should warn you that not everybody is a suitable subject, but all we can do is try."

"Will I know when you begin?"

He smiled and shuffled his pen from hand to hand, "it's important that you are comfortable and relaxed.  Would you prefer a nurse to be present?"

"Yes please."

He pressed a button beside his chair, a nurse entered and sat beside the door, out of Sarah's direct line of sight. 

"Nurse White is here to observe and will take no part in the proceedings, do you understand?"  Sarah nodded.  "Do you mind if we record the session?"

"No, it would be interesting to hear just what happens."  Nurse White moved slightly and there was a click.

"Now close your eyes, breath slowly, and deeply.  When I count to three you will sleep.  you will still be able to hear me and respond to my questions, relax, relax, one... two... three."

"For the record, your name is Sarah O'Dell?"

"Yes."

"You're 27 years old?"

"Yes."

"How long have you lived in Barchester?"

"Twenty five years."

"Do you recall your first 'waking dream'?"

"Yes."

"Would you describe it please?"

"It was 06:55pm on Tuesday evening.  I like to watch 'Holby City' so I went over to switch on the TV.  Suddenly I was in a dark cellar, I could hear running water and feel damp stones underfoot.  It smelt musty - like mushrooms.  I could hear a dog whimpering and a voice 'don't fret Bobby they'll miss us soon, and start a search.  They'll find us, you'll see!'  There followed a low rumble, and the dog started barking in earnest; then the Holby City theme tune began, and I was standing by the TV."

"How did you feel?"

"I was terrified and cold, I could still smell it, and my feet felt clammy.  It wasn't until I sat down on the couch that I began to feel a little more like my old self."  She shuddered.

"What did you think?"

"I felt as if somebody had switched channels, and then switched back again only it wasn't the TV, it was my life that changed.  I was afraid to move in case it happened again.  It didn't, but I couldn't move.  I must have fallen asleep because suddenly it was the early hours of Wednesday morning, there was some game show on.  I live alone, so I had no one to confide in this is the first time I've told anybody about it."

"Thank you!  How did this affect you?"

"I became nervous and fearful in case it happened again.  Other people noticed the change in me.  

"How did this change your life?"

She licked her lips, "I became hesitant, nervy, and uncertain."

"How had you been immediately before the incident?"

"I was a confident, friendly and outgoing, extrovert," she paused and reflected before continuing, "I was getting back to my normal self when it happened again, in the middle of ASDA--"

"Can you share that experience with me?"

"I saw a young woman with a child in a pram, and a toddler dawdling behind her."  She licked her lips, "I noticed them leave the store, then the flash hit!  I saw them heading for the car park and the toddler wandering off between two cars, into an empty parking space.  Two cars were racing for the space.  The winner didn't even see the child but must have felt the bump.  It was so vivid that I abandoned my shopping trolley and rushed out of the store.  I grabbed the child's arm an instant before he ran in front of the parking car.  At that instant, the mother reached her car.  She looked back and gave me a look of pure hatred.  'Hey! Leave my child alone!'  I tried to explain, but she had hardened her mind. She smacked the child 'Don't you ever let a stranger hold your hand!  She yelled.  All eyes turned in my direction when she yelled out 'pervert!'  "I kept walking, the toddler's voice wailing in my wake."

"Did you learn anything from the experience?"

She paused and shook her head.  "No.  If I had I wouldn't have tried to warn you about the explosion at 'Gordino's'..."

"Explosion?  You didn't mention that..."

"I saw you sitting with a young woman wearing a dark business suit, and a pale blue blouse.  She had short dark hair and carried a tan briefcase.  You were laughing together, drinking coffee.  I glanced out the window, the town hall clock said ten past two, then there was an explosion."  She looked straight at him.  "Even if I am wrong, what harm would it do to change your venue?"

"I will change it to a later time, will that make you rest easier?"  He'd decided to humour her, against all logical reason. 

"Yes," she visibly relaxed, "that will put my mind at ease."

"Sarah, I'm going to count down.  When I reach one you will awake refreshed and relaxed.  Three... Two... One."  He clicked his fingers and her eyes opened.

"I'm ready, you can start whenever you like," she smiled at him.

.-...-.

The session was over, he escorted her to the reception desk and scheduled a follow-up appointment for the following week.  Then he called 'Gordino's' to cancel his reservation and see if he could book a later time, but they were fully booked. 

He rang his fiancé, "Angie, something has come up and I can't make 2pm, can we try that small cafe near your school?"

.-...-.

They met at 2:15pm and enjoyed a pleasant meal.  Over coffee, he shared the bizarre story with her.  Angie was vice-principal at the local comprehensive school, so after settling the bill Adam walked her back to school.  It was 3:00pm by his watch when he glanced up at the Town Hall clock, which showed 2:10pm.  He pointed it out to Angie, she laughed.

"That old thing hasn't worked for years," she said.

"Then in theory, the explosion could have happened at any time."

"That's if your story were true."

"I'll have to leave you here," he said.  "I have an appointment at 3:15pm."  He kissed her.

"My god!" She pointed to a plume of smoke rising from the direction of 'Gordino's'.  Then they heard it, and felt the blast of the explosion.

ends.

A Hand of Whist

A Hand of Whist

For an hour Forbes stood impassively behind his master at the Carlton Gentlemen's Club, as Sir Geoffrey played his cards, badly, and got punished for it.   One man was winning consistently.   He knew when to play a hand and when to fold.  He wasn't greedy and was happy to win small hands and cause no real embarrassment.  He made the game enjoyable for the other players, offering congratulations on good play and advice between hands, without seeming to preach.   In contrast to Sir Geoffrey, who was a bad player and a notoriously bad loser.   He lost hand after hand regardless of who partnered him.  He'd lost close to a 100 guineas when he left the table in a huff; Forbes followed, a step behind his master, as dictated by form.

"Unmitigated cheek Forbes.   Damned Galsworthy cheated me out of 200 guineas!"

" I saw no evidence of cheating Sir Geoffrey, the fellows an uncommonly good player, and I counted but 100 guineas leave your purse, sir,"

"Are you calling me a liar Forbes?"

"No sir, Au contraire, I'm simply suggesting that in the heat of the moment it's easy to miscount.  In a sense, you could say I've halved your losses at a stroke sir."

"I'm not in the mood for jokes Forbes.  Do you play whist?"

"I do sir," he said as he assisted his master into the coach, taking the seat opposite as propriety dictates.

"What kind of player are you?"

"Actually, I'm quite proficient sir."

"And, you think I play badly?"

"I wouldn't say that sir."

"Aha!  Now you're being diplomatic..."

"Well sir, I would say there is room for improvement."

"Room for improvement?  Impudent scally, you think you could beat me?"

"No sir!  I wouldn't be happy about taking your money.  But, I could play along and point out other possible stratagems."

"Heh, heh, you're going to teach me how to play eh?"

"It is within the remit of a manservant to maximise his masters potential."

"Well, we would need two other players."

"I would suggest, Mr Jarvis your butler, and Smythe, your stable master, sir. 

Both are excellent players.  We could play for farthings to save embarrassment."

"Farthings?  Farthings?  I couldn't possibly play for such low stakes." 

"They are house stakes sir, but if we play with chips you could call them guineas.  Remember the object is to improve your play not to take your money, sir."

.-...-.

So, That evening, in the saddle room of Harley Manor, they played their first hand of whist.  After the first hand had been won, by Jarvis & Smythe, they laid out their cards and talked through the plays.  At the conclusion, the result was unchanged.  But, over the next three hands, to Sir Geoffrey's surprise, the analysis reversed the results.

At the evenings conclusion, Sir Geoffrey paid out 20 guineas to his surprised Butler & Groom and Forbes paid out 20 farthings (5 pennies).

"Same again tomorrow evening," said Sir Geoffrey."  By the end of the month, Sir Geoffrey was winning as many hands as he lost.

.-...-.

They returned to his club after five weeks absence, to the great relief of Galsworthy and other players anticipating a pecuniary improvement.  But, by the end of the evening, their disappointment was evident, when Sir Geoffrey left the table with 120 guineas of their money. 

"Extraordinary lucky," said major Griffin.

Galsworthy smiled. "He's taking lessons."

"I say, dashed unsporting what?" said colonel Fisher.

"No, no, we'll get it all back with interest tomorrow eh colonel?" said the major.

"Hehem..." the colonel replied

"Well, it certainly made the game more interesting.  If you like I'll pair with him when next we meet," said Galsworthy.

As matters transpired it would be a week before they next saw Sir Geoffrey.  Forbes was confident that they were well prepared and so it proved.  Galsworthy and Sir Geoffrey took 300 guineas away from the table that evening.

"Well sir, you are now officially an excellent player.  So, I doubt you will be joining our games in the tack room in future," Forbes sounded genuinely regretful as he assisted Sir Geoffrey into his coach.

"Not a bit of it Forbes, the players at the Carlton Club come a poor second to the members of the Harley Manor club, like taking candy canes from babies!  Tell Jarvis & Smythe I intend winning all my money back; every brass farthing!" 

"Gloves off sir?"  Forbes broke into an uncharacteristic smile, rubbing his hands as he took his seat.  The wily servants had been sharing the guineas three ways; now they would step it up a gear. 

ends

In Living Memory:

In Living Memory:

I recall when my mum died.  I suddenly realised that I didn't know anything about her formative years.  My kids aren't interested in my reminiscences either.  So as far as history is concerned we may as well never have existed.

So, I'm considering starting a blog, 'In Living Memory', to revisit the most vivid memories of our childhood. Does anybody want to take the challenge?

When I/we go, the only memories of our times will be in history books, concerned with the broader issues, devoid of colour and life.

I would like to start by contacting people worldwide, all ages, to capture and preserve their memories of childhood.  I would like us all to think on our formative years and note the differences between then and now.  To relate our amusing anecdotes for posterity.  To colour the past, and present its many different viewpoints.  All ages welcome, recent memories will age with the writer, to be treasured by those yet to come.  

I can be contacted at: 

hullbridgewriters@outlook.com

If you are interested in contributing to the blog.

Here are a few small examples that came to mind from my own life:

1948 a very Good Year.

  I have fond early memories of 1948 and my childhood, in Dagenham, Essex, England, just after the 'World War II'.  The production of munitions stopped and the production of cars resumed at Dagenham.  So after demobilisation Dad got a job in the River Plant at Briggs Bodies, soon to become a subsidiary of the Fords Motor Company.

 Rationing was still in force and shortages were the norm.  There were four hundred houses in Western Avenue where we lived, but there were only two cars.   One belonging to Doctor Smithers, the other to Bill Roach a neighbour.   Bill had been in the RAF, as aircrew, and lost both legs when his plane was shot down.  He drove a Ford Prefect that had been converted to operate with hand controls.   At that time the streets were still safe for children to play in, and that was where I first discovered I had a sense of humour.   In 1948 I was an ancient three and a half year old.

.-...-.

 It looked like a tea cosy but it was a hat.   Grass green inside, orange, red, green and blue outside, with a large blue pom-pom on the top.   Mum religiously planted it on my head whenever I went out to play.   But, as soon as she went in, I removed it and stuffed it up the drain pipe.   When I returned I would retrieve it and nobody was any the wiser.   One blustery day I returned but forgot to retrieve the hat.  When mum asked where it was I said the wind had blown it away. So she bought me a brown French Beret (see photo).

 That winter we had a series of heavy rainstorms and the gutters overflowed.   Dad decided to clean them out, but first, he checked the downpipes, where he discovered the remains of my hat.   He solemnly announced, to mum and me, that a small furry creature had got trapped in the pipe and died.   He made us turn our backs whilst he extricated it and buried it with full ceremony. 

“Heh heh heh!”

.-...-.

 In the spring of 48 Dad 'told me off' for calling our next-door neighbour Arry!

“You mustn’t call him Harry, that’s disrespectful.   Call him Mr Thomas!” he said.

Next morning, I was in the garden when out came Mr Thomas to do some gardening.

“Hello Lenny,” he said with a smile.

“Ello Arry.   Mustn’t call you Arry, aye Arry.   Mr Thomas aye Arry?”

Dad looked as if he would suffocate, attempting to stifle his laughter.  Harry had no such inhibitions.  

 Here I am, good job they didn't know what plots were hatching behind that 

cherubic face.

 

Len Morgan (69), Essex, England.

Ding dong, the frog is alive!

Ding dong, the frog is alive!

He was a Naval diver, 'a frogman', in his younger days.  His youthful good looks and boyish charm belied his nickname 'the frog'.  On leaving the service he expected he would leave it behind, but it followed him into civilian life.

Twenty five years on, his hair was thinning, he'd put on weight and his wife realised that 'the frog' was no longer performing up to spec.

So, after much soul searching, they decided to seek specialist help through their local Doctor.

.-...-.

"What would you like to know, Doc?"

"I take it the blue tablets didn't help?"

"I finished the whole course, taking one forty minutes before..."

"No go?"

"Huh hum, not a flicker. I always thought they were magic bullets. I, we were counting on them..."

"They only work in three out of five cases I'm afraid."

"So, what can I do, doc? Phylis, my wife..." He hung his head. "It's not who I am." His cheeks moistened. "I, love her but can't seem to show her. Do you understand?"

"I understand, Mr Armitage. I'm sending you to see a specialist. Both of you will need to attend. Would you mind going to the wait room for a while? I need to make a phone call.

.-...-.

The innocuous music in the waiting room was momentarily interrupted.

'MR ARMITAGE to ROOM 5, PLEASE. MR ARMITAGE to ROOM 5?'

"Come in, come in. I've setup an appointment with the specialist. Here is the address. I'm sorry it's short notice but, Dr. Haynes, can fit you both into her schedule later this afternoon. It's in the city, so you will need to stay overnight. I suggest you ring your wife and ask her to pack overnight bags."

"Thank you, doc, thank you." He shook hands vigorously. "If it works, I'll owe you a pint or two."

"Make that a double whiskey!"

"Heheh! You got it!"

.-...-.

"You will both need to stay overnight, because I have to fit a device. Oh, don't look so worried, Mrs Armitage, it's non invasive. Fits just like a wrist watch, but I will need to check readings tomorrow to ensure it's working properly. Unfortunately, we do not have facilities for an overnight stay, so I've booked you into a motel, fifteen minutes away. It's comfortable, clean and I'm told the food at the nearby restaurant is excellent. Would you come this way please?" In her consulting room she took the device from a locked cabinet.

"Are you sure it will work, Doctor?"

"I've used it many times with a 90% success rate, Mrs. Armitage. Would you lay on the bed and lower your pants please, Mr. Armitage, this will only take a few moments-- There!"

"You're right, it does look like a wrist watch," he said.

"Telemetry. It records responses to external stimuli. You can get dressed now, and I'll see you both tomorrow morning at 10am."

They booked into the motel and had an excellent meal.

"Just like our honeymoon, eh Frog?"

"Yea, except I had no worries then, and I didn't have this band around my genitals."

"Does it hurt?"

"No. Yea, but only my pride!" He smiled.

"Come on it's getting late, let's turn in."

He lay there thinking. Phylis was sleeping silently beside him. He heard giggles. He realised it was coming from the next room. Thin walls, he thought.

Then, he heard the couple making love. He felt like a voyeur. What can I do? There was a gentle tingling and the sound of a bell. "What the hell is that?"

"Ding dong, the frog is alive," said Phylis, taking hold of him. "Shame to waste this."

They made love as if time had rewound. They drowned out the sounds from next room, with sounds of their own...

"What a night!" he said, settling the bill at the checkout. He smiled then laughed aloud.

"What is it?" said Phylis.

"Were you in on this?" He asked pointing at the Motel sign, 'The Love~nest'.

"It was all in your mind sweetheart. You just needed the right stimuli."

"Yea. Ding dong, the frog is alive?" He closed the car door. "And kicking!" he said. He kissed her, they heard a bell ringing.

"It's nearly 10am sweetheart, let's go get that thing removed."

Ends

My Great Epic Chapter 1

My Great Epic Chapter 1

I took my reserved seat and started writing my great Epic just as the train pulled out of the station. My writing wavered left, right, up and down. I paused, to rub out the unintelligible scrawl, waiting for the train to hit a smooth stretch.

 I put pencil to paper again. The train went over the points and my pencil wavered left, right, up and down, so I went for coffee. I returned to find somebody had opened a window and an icy chill settled, as I sat down to start writing again.

 I set my coffee on the table, just as the train jerked violently, the hot coffee poured onto my journal and onto my pants. I went to the restroom to sponge my trousers, and returned to find my journal soaked through; the great Epic would have to wait for another day.

I am sitting in my favourite chair, at home, 'Eine Kleine Nachtmusik' by Mozart playing in the background.  The temperature is 18 degrees.  I have a glass of cool Pepsi in one hand, as I take up my pen with the other to write in my new journal:

The Great Epic ~ Chapter 1...

3rd September 1950

3rd September 1950

I lay on the riverbank gazing up at the sky.   Alternate waves of hot and cool air gently caress my skin, dashing hither and thither causing the long dry meadow grasses to hiss and sing of other memorable autumn days long past.  Life was much simpler back then in the 1950's.  The nightmare war in Europe was fast receding from our minds like a bad dream.  The King was on his throne, Dad was back home with us, and all was well with my world. 

  Earlier in the week, I'd followed Kenneth and his Dad to the river Rom, to watch them fly the model aircraft Kenneth had received as his birthday present.

.-...-.

" Dad said, ""Mr Davis is a private man, he can't abide noise."

Can't  stand children, I thought, or rather the noise we made?  We often played round at Kenneth's house; It was larger than mine and he had toys his dad owned when he was a child before the war.   Mecano, a Hornby Double-O train set, model cars, board games, a magic set, books and many other things all still in their original boxes, always handled with great care.  The contents of his bedroom were treasure trove to me.  

So when Mrs Davis said, "You will have to play in your room today Kenneth, Daddy is swotting."  I was delighted.

Mr Davis was studying to become a solicitor, his studies had been curtailed when he volunteered for the RAF at the start of the war, in 1939.

 Most of us post-war kids had to make do with cast-offs or what we could make for ourselves.  Imagination is a wonderful tool, so an old palling with a bent nail for a trigger was a rifle, a curved tree branch tensioned with parcel string served as a bow and strait pea sticks tipped with tar, from the road, made effective arrows.  I'm talking about a different world, 67 years ago.  We appreciated what we had, and for being reunited with our loved ones meant everything to us.

Mr Davis was invalided out early in 1944, he had a flying accident and lost a leg and had some hearing loss.  He was 28, his hair was thinning and prematurely grey.  He bore a thin pale scar on his left cheek from his ear lobe to his mouth, so he disguised his injuries by wearing a suit tie and a trilby hat when he went out even on the hottest days.

.-...-.

 I'd never seen a radio-controlled plane fly, so I followed them keeping a wary distance because Mr Davis only ever took Kenneth out on his own.  And I would not be welcome.  I watched as the model was filled with Aero Spirit and fired up, the loud whine sounded, to me, like a real aircraft.  Puffs of smoke blew from the exhaust as Kenneth held it tail fin as instructed. 

Mr Davis manipulated the controls, "let go, Now!" he yelled to Kenneth and it took to the air, looped the loop, did a role and looped into a tight circle.  The controls changed hands, and the small craft levelled out, heading for the old oak tree.  As if drawn by a magnet.  the controls changed hands again but the plane flew into the upper branches and the motor abruptly cut out, it was stuck!

They spent some time trying to shake the branches to get the plane down, without success.  Mr Davis tried to climb up the trunk, but only his good leg could gain purchase.  H gave up and tried to boost Kenneth into the lower branches, but he was unable to reach it.

"You'd better come down, and we'll get you something else for your birthday."

At that moment Kenneth froze, "I, I can't move!"  He began to cry.

Without thinking, I left my hiding place to help my friend.  The oak held no fear for me, I could climb like a monkey!

"Turn around and hang on," I yelled climbing into the lower branches.  I reached Kenneth in no time, Guided and coaxed him to a place where his Dad could reach him.

"You'd better come down too," said Mr Davis.

"What about your plane?" I asked.

"Leave it, it's far too high up," he said.

I laughed and scurried up retrieving it with ease.

.-...-.

I was invited to tea, Mrs Davis plied me with salmon sandwiches, fresh cream cakes, homemade jam scones and lemonade.  I almost burst with pride when Mr Davis regaled his wife with the rescue and my climbing prowess.

Then he totally surprised me. "We're going fishing at the weekend Lenny, would you like to come along?"

We had a great day.  I learned to fish with a rod, reel, gut line, and propper hooks (not a stick, twine and a bent pin) it was a day I will never forget!

818 words

Out of Character

Out of Character

In the locker room of the eleventh precinct, Officer Clyde Kowalski badge #D6593 hung his uniform at the end of a long twelve-hour shift. He was unconsciously whistling a tune from his mothers favourite musical. 

Tough cop indeed he thought and he smiled self-consciously at his fellow officers, none of whom looked the least bit cheerful.

"Hey Kowalski, what's with the Mary Poppins, you goin soft on us?"

"Nah! It's Thursday night, and I gotta long-standing date."

"Well I hope she is worthy of dat cheery dispo-zishun."

"Oh she is Harv," he smiled again thinking of Martha Swan and her flower arranging classes. 

He could just turn up with a bunch of in-season blooms, some leaves, fern and a rock or tree bark and, with her help, create a beautiful arrangement for the local Hospice that had helped his mother through her final days.

Celby, Guardian of the Portal.

Celby, Guardian of the Portal.

I am Celby, I'm eight, but kinda small for my age. I have a yella comb on my head, bright and fluffy. Moma says that means I have a special talent. My little sister Souli is only five but is far ahead of me at writin an sums, that's her talent because she has a purple comb.  I am a mind speaka like Ganpa.  Moma is purple like Souli, Popa has a black comb his talent is for building stuff.  Ganpa now has a fuzzy white comb with no fur on it. Moma says that's because he's old and wise, and should always be heeded.

On my seventh birthday, I received my speaka's medal when Ganpa tested my talent.

Ganpa took me through the portal, "now young Celby, I want you to tell me what that snail is thinking."

"You mean the funny shellikie thing with horns?"

"That's the one."

"She's looking at the leaves on the wild lettuce, they looked so tasty, but the plant is so far away, and she moves so slowly.  She wishes she had legs like the field mouse or wings like a bird."

"And what is the field mouse thinking?"

"He wishes he had a fine shiny shell to live in, like the snail, then he wouldn't have to build a nest."

"Very good.  You have shown me you are a true mind speaka, now I would like you to plant an idea in the mind of miss snail."

I thought very hard, then told her there are lots of tasty leaves much closer if you just look for them. She stopped and sampled a daisy leaf. "Did I do good Ganpa?"

"Excellent!  There are two rules you must promise to obey before you will be allowed to stand guard on the Portal to our world.

One, never look into the eyes of a Slowgie, If you do you'll let them into our World, then all kindsa mischief will follow. 

Two, never venture beyond the walls on either side!  If you do you will be trapped in the Slogie world and may never be able to return.  Do you hear my words boy?" 
I nodded, "yes Ganpa."
"Heed my words!" He was real serious.

My life changed forever when I disobeyed one of those rules.

.-...-.

Emily was nine years old and went to St Winifred's Infants School. Each day Janice, her minder, took her along the same route to school: along the A13, passing under the viaduct between Stamford Hill and Tilberry. The A13 is a dual carriageway, the two concrete walls supporting the viaduct protected a hidden garden, unlike any existing outside. There were shrubs, grasses, flowering plants,  and ferns even in winter. Each day as they drove past, the wind would bounce off the walls, bringing a sweet-scented balmy perfume into the car, but they would whizz by so fast. They went past in a fraction of a second, so Emily always wound the window down before they reached the viaduct, just to enjoy it. Then, one day they were caught in traffic and crawled slowly past that tiny hidden place. Emily saw dragonflies, shrews, and a feral cat lounging on a rock by a small pool, it was waiting for small creatures and birds it could pounce on. She thought it was the most beautiful place she had ever seen. 

.-...-.

Ganpa was the guardian of the Portal.  It was his job to see that nothing disturbed the peace beyond the entry point.  I had been assisting him for a few weeks.  I went to call him at home one morning and found him still abed.

"Celby, I am feeling unwell, you will have to stand guard alone today."

"Of course Ganpa," I felt proud to be asked.  It is a ceremonial office but I was still looking forward to my first duty alone, as guardian of the portal between the Paece and the Slowgie worlds.  I had assisted Ganpa, as part of my training, but never before stood guard alone.  But, as I entered the Slowgie world I sensed something had changed, something was wrong.  I had been on duty for thirty minutes. Usually, the cars would pass from right to left in that time.  Cars are silly slow-moving boxes with Slowgies sitting like statues inside them. We can see them but, they are in another time slice, and we move too fast to register on their senses. They don't even know that we exist. But, today the cars were not moving at all. 'It can't harm' I thought, 'just a quick peek' so I looked into the open window of the nearest car.

It was dark inside, and it took a while for my eyes to adjust. Then I saw them.  A pair of bright blue eyes. 'No,' I thought and looked away. But it was too late! Our eyes met and our minds synched. Her memories and experiences flooded into my mind... 

.-...-.

"Oh my goodness," said Emily seeing a shock of stark yellow hair. The tawny eyes gazing back at hers held a look of foreboding. The small creature looked like an elf from one of her school books. 

"I'm not an elf, I'm Celby, guardian of the portal." I backed away from the door as she opened it and stepped out.  She was real tall, about four feet, twice my height, and her hands head and body were all larger than mine.

"My name is Emily." 

"Yes, I know you, Emily Rushmore." 

"You know?" she said.  "How do you know, and how can you talk without moving your lips?  What are you?" 

"I'm a Paece, and you're a Slowgie!"

"No, I am not!  I'm human." 

"We call you Slowgies..." 

"Why?  That sounds rather rude." 

"Look!" I pointed to the statue-like figure in the front seat of her car. 

Emily opened the passenger door expecting Janice to turn and scold her for getting out on the dual carriageway. But, she sat silent and stiff. Emily reached out to touch her face, it was cold and hard. "Janice, are you ok?" 

"See!" I said in triumph. "She's okay but time goes slower for her, and would have for you if I hadn't broke Ganpa's first rule. I'm sure gonna get it for that!" 

"Don't tell him about it, how would he know anyway?" 

"Oh! he will know, he always does, he was once a yella like me." 

"It's so nice here, would you show me around your garden Celby, please?" 

She took my hand in hers and squeezed it gently, "then I'll return to the car, and drive off to school.  What harm would it do?" She walked over to the pool, made to stroke the cat, it didn't move, it felt like stone. Then she turned to the tiny shrew and picked it up, it was like a plastic model, she looked into its eyes, they were glazed, she placed it back where the grass still bore its imprint.  Then seeing the cat, ready to spring, she moved it to safety.

"Were not supposed to interfere like that," I said. 

"It's only one meal, and that tiny shrew may have a family to feed."

"The cars are moving again," I said. 

"Does that mean I'll have to go back to the car?" 

I nodded, "our time doesn't extend beyond that wall, if you let the car go you may never get back inside." 

"Will I be able to visit you again?" 

"If you leave your window open, and I am the guardian on that day, I could let you back in." 

"Do we still have a little time?" 

I nodded, "we have about ten minutes." 

She gazed at the dark patch in the centre of the glade and moved towards it. "Is this the portal to your world?"

"You can't go there!" I said. 

"Why not?" she asked, moving closer. "It seems to be a pale misty space, then it changes into a tunnel of light, but I can't see through it."

"Please!" I threw my arms up in front of her pushing on her waist. "They will know I broke the rules if you enter. I'll talk with Ganpa and maybe on another visit..." 

"When I leave here it will seem like a dream. How will I know your world truly exists?" 

I took my Speaka's medallion from around my neck and slid it onto her wrist, it was a perfect fit. "Look upon this and you will remember." 

Emily bent down and kissed me on the cheek, so I smiled and gave her a hug. A small tear formed in her eye. "It's been so nice visiting Celby."

"We'll meet again Emily, I promise." I helped her into the car, and closed the door.

"Don't forget your promise Celby." 

 "Just time for one more thing," I said opening the front passenger side door.  Right at the top of Janice's purse was a bright red lipstick. "I've done this before," I said, painting a bright red blob on the tip of Janice's nose.  I closed the car door, and smiled when I heard Emily's giggling in the rear, she'd seen my trick through the rearview mirror. 

I gazed deep into her eyes, blinked, and looked away.  The link was broken; she froze. 

But, I could see she was still a gigglin.  "heh heh!"