The afternoon was cold without the strong winds we’ve been becoming accustomed to lately. Margaret and I decided to take a good long walk through Sheringham Park. This is a National Trust (NT), property, comprising a large wooded area surrounding Sheringham Hall. The woodland walks are carefully maintained by NT employees and are extremely pleasant to visit. There are many mature trees with Rhododendrons, Azaleas with several species of Magnolia.
A striking young tree, resplendent in its Autumnal golden yellow foliage is the first colourful image that strikes the eye, giving a flavour of the season. Many crunchy, brown Oak and Beech leaves were covering the ground along the way. I couldn’t help imagining a fine tilth of leaf mould all over our allotment if only I could solve the logistical problem of transportation.
We continued to wander along the woodland trail and next encountered this wonderful pink Azalea tree at the edge of the pathway. This was the only shrub in bloom at this time of the year, although many shrubs were covered in plump strong buds which promises well for a gorgeous display of blooms in the Spring.
Margaret came prepared with a walking cane to aid her balance on the uneven terrain. We passed a few people also enjoying the solitude of a woodland afternoon stroll, mainly couples walking the family pooch. Everyone we encountered strictly observed the social distance recommendations and cheerfully said Good Afternoon to us as we passed.
I was examining some rich green ferns, almost ankle-deep in Oak tree leaves here. The tangled branches in the background sadly feature a good number of branches that had been torn off the trees in a recent terrific storm.
We were just in time to see a Squirrel dashing up the trunk of a large Beech tree and I noticed the ground was covered with the empty husks of Beechnuts. Obviously there is a secreted hibernation larder nearby.
The normally prolific birdlife was either roosting or away on migration. However we did notice a Magpie, a Crow and a few smaller birds darting around. At the end of the afternoon we had walked two miles in about 50 minutes. A good healthy lockdown exercise experience for both of us.
This is a poem I wrote several years ago based on a real life Prime Minister of the UK from 1964 to 1970. 1974 and 1976
He sensationally resigned shortly after his 60th birthday. It has been suggested he was in the early stages of Altzheimers disease when he resigned and some recent tests seem to bear this out.
He died in 1995 aged 79 of colon cancer and Altzheimers disease.
He was buried in St Mary’s in the Isles of Scilly.
His wife Mary Wilson was an accomplished published poet.
Mary Wilson’s poem on Harold’s death….
My love you have stumbled slowly
On the quiet way to death
And you lie where the wind blows strongly
With a salty spray on its breath.
For this men of the island bore you
Down paths where the branches meet
And the only sounds were the crunching grind
Of the gravel beneath their feet
And the sighing slide of the ebbing tide
On the beach where the breakers meet
Lady Mary Wilson lived to be 102 passing away on 7th June 2018 in London and her ashes are buried in St Mary’s in the Isle of Scilly.
Today’s prompt: Write a piece of prose or poetry that uses the words hotel and porcelain skin.
THE HIRED HAND
by John Yeo
Billy was a drifter, a wanderer, a man for hire. He was of average height and weight, however, he could always be identified by the six-inch long scar on his face running from one ear to the other ear. A hidden identifier was the shape of his head. His skull appeared to be uniquely shaped into a point and he had a long pointed chin. It was rarely, if ever, anyone saw Billy without his battered, mis-shaped, stetson hat on his head. He always had a grubby neckerchief pulled up over the scar and his elongated chin.
Jumping awkwardly off the goods train he had boarded when it slowed for some signals two miles outside the small town of Marlon, he took to the road, limping slightly.
Marlon is a one street town with a general store and a rundown, little-used hotel, opposite the railway goods depot that doubled as the town passenger station.
Billy entered the bar.
‘What’ll you have?’ asked the burly bartender, rubbing his huge wet hands on a grubby apron. He seemed to be deliberately aggressive as he eyed Billy suspiciously.
Billy smiled and pulled his scarf down slightly. ‘Gimme a beer please! I’m looking for work. Do you know anyone who’s hiring?’
At this precise moment a tall lady walked in, dressed from head to toe in funereal black. Her blonde hair was scarcely visible under the folds of a jet black hood. Billy couldn’t help admiring her facial skin which was perfectly made up with white makeup, giving the illusion of the pure porcelain skin of an oriental geisha girl.
‘Good day Mrs.Harper. Can I get you anything?’ asked the bartender respectfully.
‘No thanks Carter, I need to ask a favour. If you hear of anyone looking for work send them to the ranch. We are hiring for our harvest.’
‘Certainly Ma’am, I’ll do just that.’ replied the barman.
With that the lady left the bar.
Billy turned to him and frowned and screamed at the barman
‘Why didn’t you introduce me Carter?’
‘You wouldn’t thank me when you realised you would become a modern slave and sleep in the pigsty. Besides, you work for me now. How does fifty bucks an hour sound with a room thrown in.’
Billy soon became a regular member of the community and was soon a partner in the business.
This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’. Which can be found by following the link below..
Jason Spriggs was a third year psychology student at Welchester University. He was 20 years old, 5’ tall, with a shaved head and deep set brown eyes. He was a hard worker and was no stranger to burning the midnight oil. Most of his friends considered him to be good fun and he was a bit of a party animal. He had a habit of burning the candle at both ends.
It was the weekend and although he had had little sleep Jason woke early in the morning: Suddenly. He vaguely remembered being part of a horrible scenario in his dream. It was difficult to remember exactly what he’d been dreaming about. There was just this terrible feeling of latent fear connected to his actual sense of self. Try as hard as he might, he hardly remembered a single thing that had contributed to this feeling of abject fear. He stumbled out of bed and rushed into the bathroom to answer an urgent call of nature. While he was washing his hands he glanced into the bathroom cabinet mirror. To his horror there was nothing there, just the wall behind him opposite the mirror. He shouted Help! at the top of his voice and Mary and Peter his fellow college housemates came running.
‘What’s up Jase?’ enquired Mary in a panic. ‘Why are you screaming?’
‘Calm down Jason or you will be arrested for breaching the peace and exceeding the allowable noise levels,’ quipped Peter, ‘They’re extremely hot on noise pollution in this area.’
Mary tutted and pushed Peter to one side. ‘Don’t be cruel Pete. What’s the problem Jason?’
Jason rubbed his eyes and looked at them. ‘Am I here? I must be visible to you, but I have lost my reflection. I just looked in the mirror and there’s nothing there. No reflection at all. I had a terrible frightening dream and I just got an empty reflection when I looked in the mirror.’
Peter grinned and reminded him of his consumption of alcohol the night before. ‘Maybe you’re still suffering the effects of the wine and booze you put away yesterday. Have another drink and take another look in the mirror. The hair of the dog technique; never fails to reset the mind. As psychology students we are all aware of the tricks of perception.’
Mary nodded and rushed off to empty the dregs of several wine bottles that were lying around the house. ‘Here Jase, drink this and look in the mirror again.’ They both knew this was another piece of psychological treatment using the power of suggestion.
Jason quickly swallowed the contents of the proffered glass and looked in the mirror again.
At first the glass was cloudy but he was soon relieved to see his reflection slowly appear where there had recently been an empty reflection.
Peter grinned and said. ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall who is the fairest of them all?’
They all collapsed together, curled up into fits of laughter.
This is a book that is extremely well written with the use of some incredibly well researched information. The way the facts are brought together and presented with such wonderful clarity is certain to inform and educate.
The book takes an in-depth study of the huge reliance the past and the present world leaders have been forced to place on their geographical locations.
From Russia, through China, the USA, Latin America, the Middle East, Africa, India and Pakistan, Europe, Japan and Korea, to the Arctic.
The reasons for many political decisions on World peace and prosperity are explained here. The information forecast, sometimes drifts from the reality of recent events but the forecast for the future prosperity and development of the individual nations is fascinating.
I would thoroughly recommend this book as a great learning experience.
This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’. Which can be found by following the link below..
FIRST LINE PROMPT ~ Bacon sandwiches always reminded her….
SHOCK LIFESTYLE CHANGE
by John Yeo
Bacon sandwiches always reminded her of the time she spent visiting a smallholding in the depths of rural Wales. Philip Jones was a hard worker on his land and managed to come close to self sufficiency in food.
My college roommate Patsy, his only daughter, would always extend an invitation to spend time with her family on this beautiful smallholding. Patsy was a tall girl, with long red hair and freckles all over her face and arms. We have always been inseparable friends.
Patsy stopped me in the quad one beautiful spring day. ‘Are you coming to stay with us again this year again Belle? you know you are always welcome. Dad always appreciates your help and we can enjoy ourselves in the village again. They still hold the Saturday dance in the village hall.’
Patsy had a habit of shortening my name from Annabelle
“Yes please! I can hardly wait.’
During the History lecture that afternoon my mind drifted over the coming visit. I was looking forward to playing with the farm animals again, feeding the chickens, walking the dogs and mucking out the pig sty. I had grown quite fond of the friendly single family pig, I always had time for Priscilla, I swear she was extremely intelligent and I would converse with her while I was in the sty.
The last two weeks at college passed in a blur, and we were soon on a passenger train speeding through the beautiful green hills and valleys that famously go to make up Wales. We were met at the village railway station by Mr Jones who shook my hand.
‘Hi Annabelle lovely to see you again.’
He gave his daughter a huge hug and smiling broadly
‘Hello Freckles! climb aboard both of you.’ Patsy frowned at this old nickname.
In contrast to Patsy, Mr Jones was a short, stocky, well muscled man, with an unruly mop of brown hair that he kept in place with a fashionable Barbour hat. He loaded our bags onto the vehicle and we were soon on our way.
We arrived at the smallholding where we were greeted by Mrs Jones, with a large pot of tea, a huge plateful of bacon sandwiches and buttered scones. Mrs Jones was a beautiful lady, tall with long red hair; it was obvious which side of the family the freckled skin came from.
The bacon sandwiches were delicious and I couldn’t help enquiring after my friend Priscilla the family pig.
There was an embarrassed silence as Mr Jones pushed the plate of bacon sandwiches towards me and offered me another sandwich.
‘Such is the reality of life on a self sufficient smallholding.’
It was from that precise moment I became a life-long vegetarian.
BOOK REVIEW
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