HEARING VOICES

Posted on Apr 30, 2016 by John Yeo | Leave a comment

This piece of Flash Fiction is a story I conjured up based on this photograph of an interesting sculpture from among my illustrated souvenirs.

HEARING VOICES

by John Yeo

Ted Smith, was a renowned seer and futurologist, a man, they say, who could predict the future with incredible accuracy. Ted’s history was one of the checkered variety that made historians and members of the medical profession choke on their morning coffee.

Ted had left school at fourteen, shunned by the teaching staff and his fellow pupils alike for his insistence that he could hear voices coming from below the ground. Voices that actually spoke to him and tried to warn him about events that were about to happen. Everyone laughed when he warned about wildfires, floods, and acts of chance that promised to kill many people in countries far away from where he lived, on the other side of the globe.

Ted had been in and out of mental hospitals and psychiatric institutions for most of his life, subjected to some of the most incredible cures for the insane that were ever invented, including electric shock, and aversion therapy, before anyone really took any notice of what the voices he professed to hear actually said to him.

A renowned psychologist, Madeline Gentle began to listen and subjected him to some tests, simple at first.

Jokingly, one day before the famous horse race, the Grand National, Madeline said to him.

“Write down in the correct order the first three horses that will pass the winning post tomorrow”

“Easy!” Ted replied and put his head to the ground then handed her back the piece of paper with the horses names listed. “There will also be a shocking flood in Bengal that will kill thousands.” He added.

“OK! Now write down the name of the top three companies that will be most successful on the stock market tomorrow please.” Requested the doctor amiably.

“Certainly!” Ted put his head to the ground and wrote three names on a piece of paper. “There will also be a wildfire in Australia that will cause much damage.”

Sensationally every prophetic word came true. Ted was then feted and swiftly became renowned for his abilities. Much money was made from his forecasting abilities and the world began to take notice of his every utterance as many devastating phenomena were stopped before they began.

Ted began to relay much scientific information from the voices, including the incredibly simple free energy that was to become a boon to the world. Along with many new cures for a variety of cursed illnesses that had scythed down many of the finest minds that mankind had ever produced.

One very sad but remarkable day after having placed his head to the ground, Ted announced, “I have to say goodbye to this world as I am about to die!” There was a ripple of shock among his followers and the huge audience, he had attracted to his daily forecasting sessions.

A man in the front row of the audience pulled out a gun and shot him dead.

“Death to the difference!” The man shouted as he pulled the trigger, before turning the gun on himself and pulling the trigger.

A Saint was born at that split second and St. Ted is worshipped and venerated in many corners of the globe to this day.

A prompt response for INSPIRATION MONDAY ~ “ DYNASTIC PRESSURE”

Posted on Apr 21, 2016 by John Yeo | 2 Comments

“The Future” ~ Image © Copyright John and Margaret

A prompt response for INSPIRATION MONDAY ~ “DYNASTIC PRESSURE”
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I am still very busy working on my book, and I am up to Chapter Eighteen now. I am happy to say Marg is well and thriving.

This flash fiction prompt came up from, “Inspiration Monday,” and I thought it might be a good idea to base my response around some of the characters who feature in my novel.

Don Francisco
His two sons, Angelo and Giuseppe} ~Twin Brothers
Bella ~ their Sister.

I have to point out now, that the two men are not brothers in my novel and Bella is not their sister. However for the purposes of the thrust of my story in response to this prompt, I have used a little poetic license here.

DYNASTIC PRESSURE

by John Yeo

There were not just ripples of unease spreading throughout the family. Storm clouds were on the horizon and building up, it seemed a tremendous family storm was brewing and the various strands of the family were coming together for a very crucial meeting.

Don Francisco held the members of the Vicente family in a grip of steel, his father and his grandfather and their forefathers had kept the family together for generations. In a word he was the Godfather. The leader of a thriving dynasty.

News of a shocking diagnosis had spread, Don Francisco was dying of cancer and was not expected to survive for very long. Don Francisco had twin sons, one of whom was expected to take control of the family business. Angelo was present at the bedside of his father and Bella their sister was comforting her mother, Maria. Giuseppe was supposedly on the way but there had been no news, then Maria came rushing into the room in a distressed state.

“Papa, Papa, I have shocking news! Giuseppe is dead, he was killed by a suicide bomber, who blew himself up and killed twelve people. He just happened to be on a train, in the wrong place at the wrong time!”

Don Francisco went white with shock, speechless with horror. “Leave me please, I want to be alone with my grief.”

Bella and Angelo withdrew. Bella then turned to Angelo and said. “You will now soon be The Godfather, as Papa is dying and you are next in line. He was about to pass on the title to Giuseppe who was second-in-command, while you were away at university, studying. You will control everything now!”

“No! That is not possible Bella.” shouted Angelo, “I have been studying to become a priest, I want nothing more to do with the family business!”

“Angelo! This will destroy him, you must not tell him, what you have just told me. You must pretend to accept, and allow him to die peacefully. I will secretly take charge, to keep the family dynasty together. You will become a godfather in name only. It will be seen as a sign of weakness if we announce that our family is run by a woman. A godmother, who will be ridiculed and cursed with malice in a male controlled world.”

“So be it, my sister, for the sake of my father, I will live this lie. How will you manage?”

“Angelo, I have spent my life close to my father and I have learnt much. I have been involved in missions for my father. I have made many friends, and I expect to get married some day and my fiancée who will then be my husband will take over with your blessing, my brother. The godfather will arise from within our family and the dynasty will continue unbroken.”

‘Thank you Bella, I will love you forever my sister!”

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Peace

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A prompt response for INSPIRATION MONDAY ~ “UNSTATEMENT”

Posted on Mar 24, 2016 by John Yeo | 5 Comments

Image © Copyright John and Margaret

A prompt response for INSPIRATION MONDAY ~ “UNSTATEMENT”
http://bekindrewrite.com

DOUBLE JEOPARDY

by John Yeo

Rod and Al were the best of friends, they met at public school, and were star pupils in their year, both obtaining above average grades. A bright future was predicted for these two privileged students The two friends were both studying Law together at University. Carefree days that seemed to be stretching out forever. Rodney’s father was a Member of Parliament and Alastair came from a wealthy family of landed gentry.

Before long they were courting and sowing their wild oats, they both enjoyed substantial allowances from doting proud parents. Money was no object and the fine wine flowed, good food was savoured, and love blossomed and died many times. In spite of this, their studies were going well and they were on track to obtain very good results when they graduated.

Then out of the blue, along came a phone call from an old friend of Rods, an ex-girlfriend Geraldine. The tearful call was an urgent cry for help, and went something like this.

“Hey Rod! Gerry here! How are you? I’ve just discovered I’m pregnant. You will be a Father in July. We must get together and discuss what we’re going to do about this. You have always been the only one for me!”

Rod was stunned at this and immediately got on to Alastair who ridiculed the whole notion, actually referring to Geraldine as an easy ride, who was in the process of trying to take him for a ride.

Rod was too ashamed to ask for help from his Father and approached Geraldine demanding proof. Geraldine just laughed in his face and demanded money from him in an attempt to blackmail him into paying for a private termination.

That night Rod and Al went out on the town together, and after a long pub crawl they were heavily under the influence of alcohol when they were approached by two police constables on foot.

Al then drunkenly made an unwise statement. “I smell bacon!” There was a few minutes silence as the effect and the dual meaning of this remark sunk in to all present.

Soon they were both under arrest for being drunk and disorderly in a public place, and were shown into a cell at the local police station. They were interviewed and huge repercussions would surely follow, as this arrest could jeopardise their careers, if they were charged and their parents were involved.

Al immediately apologised to the police officers involved who decided this was an out of character remark, and advised them to stay out of trouble. Rod explained the background to the story and received a sympathetic response from the lady Constable behind the station desk.

Then another surprise awaited them as they were leaving, Geraldine was led into the police station. Rod was shocked to learn the so-called Mother of his unborn child. was a hooker using her wits to pay her way through University.

As they left the police station, Rod and Al shoved all the folding money they were carrying, into a charity box marked, “Police Widows and Orphans Fund.”

In spite of the ‘Unstatement’, that Al had erased, and Geraldine’s ‘Unstatement’, of impending motherhood exonerating Rod. The two young men became top lawyers and went on to enjoy successful unblemished careers. Geraldine went on to become a very wealthy celebrity model.

inmonsterbadge1

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WRITNG PRACTICE ~ TORN JEANS

Posted on Mar 17, 2016 by John Yeo | Leave a comment

Image from the Net

Writing Practice from a prompt by The Write Practice

http://thewritepractice.com

The Prompt

Let’s twist things up. You show up to Mrs. White’s Tudor style mansion to meet with your writing critique group, as you do every week. You expect to have a fun time talking about writing and getting feedback, not to find one member of the group murdered in the drawing room. First, describe how you find the murder victim. Then, after the police lock you in a room with the rest of the guests, write about your suspicions of who-dun it as you look around the room at your fellow writers. (Set your timer for thirty minutes.)

~~~~~~~

TORN JEANS

by John Yeo

It’s Tuesday evening once again, My favourite evening of the week. We are off to take part in our evening of literary congeniality together, at Madeleine White’s mansion at the top of the hill, overlooking the village. Gilbert White is a wealthy industrialist who likes to play at being a Lord of the manor.

The drive up the steep hill is very pretty, with the estate farm and fields spreading out into the distant horizon. The huge ornamental gates with a statue of a horse’s head on each gatepost, are always left open on Tuesday to welcome the writing group.

Mrs White opens the door herself, in response to the chimes of the doorbell that resounds hollowly through the rooms of the mansion. The butler is off-duty on Tuesdays. We always receive a welcome from our lady hostess. There are just six of us in the group at present. Annie, Dorothy, Jill, Richard, Margaret and I.

We usually meet in the impressive library, where there are many leather bound books from floor to ceiling, and many comfortable chairs and tables. Tonight is no exception and we get ourselves comfortable as we wait for Jill, who has gone to fix her torn jeans in the drawing room full length mirror.

We wait a good ten minutes before we begin to work, we all leave one after another to get drinks in the drawing room, and visit the toilets situated there. Jill still hasn’t got back after another five minutes, and Mrs White leaves us to find her. Suddenly there is a frightening high scream from the drawing room. We all rush in there at once to find a shocked Mrs White and the prone figure of Jill on the floor of the drawing room. There is a pool of blood seeping over the carpet under her body. “She’s dead,” gasps Mrs White. somebody call the police.”

Soon after the police arrive to investigate and to the horror of everyone, we are all locked up in the library by the police.

Looking around at our fellow writers, I try to work out who is capable of the killing and why? Presumably we are locked up here because the police suspect one of us.

I immediately rule out Margaret and myself. This leaves Annie, Dorothy, and Richard and of course Mrs White. I think my suspicions lie with Dorothy, she has always held a competitive grudge against Jill.

Sometime later we are all interviewed by the investigating officer, who is still without a suspect, not a single clue has been revealed during the questioning.

Then after a search of the pantry, a man with blood on his clothes, found hiding there, is led out handcuffed by the police. Mrs White is in a state of shock as she identifies her butler.

The sensational twist in the tale occurred a week later when Madeleine White was arrested for the murder of Jill Dyson who was blackmailing her, for an alleged affair she had with her father. Jill claimed Mrs White was her Mother who had abandoned her to marry Gilbert White.

The butler was released after admitting smearing himself with blood to protect Mrs White.

Gilbert White is moving away soon. Sadly our literary group is no more.

THE INVITATION

Posted on Mar 6, 2016 by John Yeo | Leave a comment

Image Copyright John and Margaret

THE WRITE PRACTICE

The Prompt ~ Write about a time you felt uncomfortable or awkward. Try not to focus on your feelings but project your feelings on the things around you.

THE INVITATION

by John Yeo

The invitation was exquisitely worded. The pleasure of your company is requested at Blake’s nightclub and restaurant to celebrate the Black Anniversary of our select club. The evening will include a three course dinner and dancing to a live band.

“Blake’s!” I exclaimed to my wife, “Where’s that? I can’t say I have ever heard of a place called Blake’s. Have you darling? It doesn’t spring to mind, but we must have patronised the place at some time in the last few years or they wouldn’t have our details.”

“It sounds like a very posh night out, I think we will have to go!” Said Elaine excitedly.

“Now hold on a minute Elaine. I think I will have to check this out on the Internet, I will see what Google comes up with.”

“OK Andrew, I will have to get a new outfit for this night out, I am sure it will be fine.”

Elaine was excited and she went to telephone her friend Jill, to see if she knew anything about Blake’s club.

Andrew came rushing into the living-room during the call. “Darling this is a exclusive establishment in the West End of London, frequented by many celebrities and rock stars from the 50’s. Sounds like a fun night out.”

“Wow!” Said Elaine.

“This Club has a very interesting past. It used to be frequented by gangsters, gamblers and high society. Rumour has it there was a murder there almost exactly 50 years ago.” Andrew went on, “I can’t imagine why we have been invited, there is no dress code and the invite simply says Black tie.”

“Sounds exciting, I will have to get a special outfit and a new hat, I will wear a black scarf to match your black tie.” Said Elaine.

“I’m not sure I like the idea of us not remembering anything about this place, and not knowing why we have been invited Elaine, but I am sure you want to go, so we will go.”

The date of the Anniversary finally arrived, and for three hours Elaine was preparing herself for the evening ahead. A beautiful transformation was the result. Andrew wore a white DJ with a black bow tie. A long black limousine arrived to pick the couple up. The driver was an elderly man wearing a chauffeurs cap. He smiled as he held the door open for Elaine and Andrew and they simply climbed right in. The luxurious interior contained a minibar and a television set with a built- in control pad in the armrest. There was a sudden click as the doors were centrally locked behind them once they were inside. There was a telephone connected to the driver and Andrew picked it up to ask why they were locked in. There was no response from the driver, Andrew became more agitated and banged on the middle interior window, but the driver just continued to look solemnly ahead.

WORKHOUSE TALES

Posted on Feb 28, 2016 by John Yeo | 4 Comments

Image provided by Gressenhall Workhouse

WORKHOUSE TALES

by John Yeo

MR POTTS REPORT

He started on the work gang I am associated with, Roger East, he called himself. A rough, dirty incredibly offensive fellow who would truck no nonsense from anyone. He worked hard, he played hard and he swore volubly and offensively at anyone who crossed him. I have heard tell he struck someone with a spade, severely injuring them, hence he had arrived at the workhouse on his release from prison.

He was sadly uneducated and spoke in monosyllabic sentences. Yet the Guardians thought the world of him. He was second in charge of the institutional farm and by golly his clothes reeked of cow manure. A harsh hard man who worked alone in all weathers, a survivor, who lived hard and always slept alone on the floor of the dormitory in the clothes he stood up in.

My colleague in the records office had no prior information on him whatsoever. He had been released from prison into the workhouse to get sustenance and all his earnings were squandered on drink. A legalised life sentence of interminable work with shelter provided. A permanent institutionalised inmate. A man who would be dismissed with nothing at the end of his working life or his working abilities.

ROGER EAST’S STORY

I am Roger East from Norfolk in East Anglia. It’s been a rough ten years since I left the army. I was a Signalman in the Royal Signals for two years. I got on well there. After I had completed my basic training. I was shipped off to fight in the Crimean war for a year, before I was hit in the leg by a sniper in the battle of Balaclava and returned home to a base job. At the end of two years I was discharged into civvy street, with a limp, wearing a standard demob suit and very little money. I got digs, but the money quickly ran out, and I found myself living by my wits. I drifted around doing odd jobs for a while, mainly on farms. My spare money went on drink in the local pubs, I enjoyed supping a few pints. I got into a few scrapes over the next few months. I would doss down where I could, sleeping in empty railway carriages in the goods yard, there were quite a few of us sleeping there, with nowhere else to go.

Some nights a gang of youngsters began to jeer at the people sleeping in the carriages, and one old fellow was severely beaten. I carried my spade everywhere, then about a week later I was approached and the gang began to push me around. I picked up my spade and wrapped it around the head of the biggest lout, then I began swinging around at the rest of the gang. They ran for it carrying the injured leader with them, I never gave chase, I was too breathless to bother.

The next night the police arrived and arrested me for assault. I was hauled into court and the magistrate sent me to prison for six months. I survived the rough violent days and nights in prison, the conditions were harsh and the days dragged by.

As it became near my time for release, I was up before the Governor for an interview, there was another man in the office at the same time, who introduced himself as Mr Potts.

“Well East, you will be leaving us soon. What are your plans? Where will you go?” Asked the Governor.

“I dunno yet, I will find work I suppose.” I said.

“That’s not good enough East, I think you will be destitute and living on the streets, of the parish. I am going to recommend you to be detained in the workhouse at Gressenhall, where you will work for food and shelter, until you have somewhere to go.”

“I am not sure I like the sound of that Sir, but I will give it a try.” I replied helplessly, I knew there would be no sense in arguing.

“Good! Mr Potts here is a Guardian from Gressenhall and he will look after you and escort you to your new home. I don’t want to see you back here again. Good luck to you!”

“Thank you Sir.” I responded with a great deal of apprehension.

That’s how I finished up here in the ‘Spike,’ I can look after myself, but the conditions here are not much better than jail. The food is simple, basic bread and gruel, with beans for a treat. We are not allowed out at all and drink is strictly forbidden. I have been allocated a job on the farm and I look after the animals, lately I have been shunned by some of the other workers who say I smell of cow muck. I never worried about that as I don’t mix with people very well anyway. I was tricked by the Guardians who sent me to the sick bay, where I was forcibly scrubbed by three other workhouse inmates. I will deal with them individually later.

I have been made second in command on the farm now and I can save a bit of the money I never see. I was able to get hold of some money from the office to buy soap and toothpaste, but my friend who visits the farm sneaked in some drink for me and I gave the money to him.

I am not sure where I would go if I didn’t live here now, or what I would do. I have become a forgotten nobody, serving a legalised life sentence of interminable work, with shelter provided. A permanently institutionalised number. A man who will probably be dismissed with nothing at the end of my working life or abilities.

JOHN PLUMMER ~ A WORKHOUSE TALE

Posted on Feb 27, 2016 by John Yeo | 8 Comments

This is one of the stories I put together on a Creative Writing Day at Gressenhall Farm and Workhouse in Norfolk.

OBJECTS AND INMATES

I concentrated on JOHN PLUMMER, Writing from this brief introduction.

“John Plummer decided he wanted to. Become a tramp when he turned 16 in 1938. The Guardians didn’t want John to do this as he would be dependant on the workhouse system. This would cost taxpayers’ money. They found John a job but he ran away. He was brought back to the workhouse and sent to Wallingford Farm Training School.”

JOHN PLUMMER ~ THE INHALER

by John Yeo

I have been forcibly returned here to take part in a training course at Wallingford Farm Training School.

I was on the road for a while before they caught up with me, at least I will be working in the open air. I couldn’t stand working in that bloody factory any more! I ran away. I have developed this chesty cough now and I have to regularly attend the sickbay. The nurse says I have to use this strange china thing whenever I get clogged up with mucus. Apparently it is filled with hot water and I breathe it in before I go to bed at night or in the morning, before I go to work. I slept rough for the time I was on the road and the Matron thinks that is where I became ill, from the damp and cold. I spoke to the Doctor when he visited last.

“What happened to me?” I asked.

“You are a victim of your own stupidity.” Replied the Doctor.

“Me stupid? Never. At least I got free from the chemicals that were swirling around that factory.”

“You will have to continue to use the inhaler morning and night in future. The fresh air working on the farm will do you good. I will see you again in a month.”

I like working outside but I do have this chesty cough that keeps me awake at night, I have to take the inhaler to bed now. The man in the next bed didn’t wake up today. They took him away and he disappeared. I think he died of TB, someone said it is a curse of the age.

It is my birthday next week. I will be seventeen.

SHELTER

Posted on Feb 21, 2016 by John Yeo | 5 Comments

This is a piece of FLASH FICTION based on this photograph that was taken on a walk we enjoyed in Sheringham Park

SHELTER

by John Yeo

The nights draw in fast around here, I had planned to go further into the forest, the darkness descended so fast. I was on an extraordinary trek through this green woody forest with my camping equipment and a metal detector. I was following a foggy, cloudy, series of clues that would enable me to uncover some fabled Iceni artefacts, from the time the legendary Queen Boudicca walked this land. Suddenly as the darkness enveloped everywhere, the trail became obscured, I tripped over a fallen branch and fell heavily to the ground. I tried to get up, but my ankle had twisted, I could feel pain that sent me crashing to the ground again. I reached for my mobile telephone, but there was no signal, and the charge was very low.

I was unable to put the tent up, I crawled along the trail in the darkness for a few yards until I came across a natural shelter. An arbor of branches that formed a makeshift roof, much like a natural woody cave. I crawled inside and soon the energy-sapping result of my efforts became apparent and I suddenly fell into a deep sleep. Then it rained, first a drizzle, then a more persistent shower followed by a crash of thunder. I woke to find the drips penetrating my little arbor and running down my face. Suddenly I froze as I could hear the sounds of panting breath and whimpering sounds from the low growing branches at the side of my arbor. I held my breath as I could sense danger, when a low warning growl informed me that I was not alone. I knew I was unable to move very quickly so I remained as still as possible, I was absolutely at the mercy of whatever was sharing my arbor.

The storm passed over and I could hear movement at the back of my shelter. I lay still, and to my surprise a Muntjac deer suddenly bolted for the gap, as a family of foxes left by a small gap at the back of the shelter.

When morning broke, I crawled outside and found my rucksack, lying just where I had left it by the trail. I found some matches and lit a fire trying to attract attention. Within an hour I was rescued and taken to hospital by an air ambulance.

There is a level of unknown communication between all forms of life. We are in this thing together, until hunger drives us apart to kill for food.

THE ICE-MAN ARRIVES

Posted on Feb 8, 2016 by John Yeo | 6 Comments

This is a piece of FLASH FICTION based on this photograph that was taken on a holiday we enjoyed some years ago.

THE TOWER OF BABEL

by John Yeo

Pedro was a sculptor, he worked in a medium that was ephemeral, short-lived very hard to control in the fluidity that was its natural state. Pedro was an ice-man, a man who could turn a block of ice into something wonderful. Anything that was requested could be done. Then one day he was asked to produce a magical sculpture on the lines of the biblical description of the Tower of Babel. Pedro got to work and within three hours a stunning work of art replaced the ordinary square block of ice that had confronted him. Pedro stepped back to admire his work before it was taken away to be used as a backdrop and a conversation piece in the showy lounge on a cruise liner.

Life was lived by the passengers of this luxury liner as if there was no tomorrow, every possible novelty or delicate treat was available for the enjoyment of these privileged men and women. The ice sculpture seemed just another object to be admired and then summarily ignored, dismissed from the conscious mind. A decorative novelty that stood in the centre of the lounge and dripped drops of liquid into the tray it was standing on.

Pedro noted the ignorance that his laborious artefact generated and decided to act, he poured a large glass of vodka in the tray. He called a portly passenger to one side and whispered,

“Don’t tell anyone, the ice is not frozen water but frozen vodka, here taste the drips in the tray!”

“Oh! Wow! So it is!” Hey Mabel come and have a look here. A Babble of Booze. The tower is pure frozen vodka.”

Mabel squealed with delight as she dipped her finger in the tray. “Hey everyone! The Tower of Babel is a tower of Booze. Soon crowds gathered to admire this wonderful work of art, and examine the intricate tiny figures as they slowly dripped away.

People were soon taking notice and there was a babble of sounds of admiration, at the intricate carving and the detail that made up the work that was rapidly melting away.

“Is it really frozen vodka?” Asked an elderly gentleman.

“Yes” said Mabel, “Taste the drips in the tray!”

“Hey! What a great idea.” He shouted. “What a brilliant piece of work. Look at the detail in these tiny figures before they melt away! Where is the sculptor who created this? I want to meet him.”

Pedro stepped forward. The elderly gentleman then said to him. “You are a very talented sculptor. I would like you to reproduce this carving in marble. I will pay you very well and employ you to continue to work for me. What do you say?”

Pedro agreed instantly, as the half-melted ice carving was wheeled away to the galley below.

The moral of this icy work of flash fiction, is never let your creativity get ignored.

A walk in the Grounds of Felbrigg Hall

Posted on Jan 31, 2016 by John Yeo | 6 Comments

A WALK AROUND FELBRIGG HALL

by John Yeo

The day started out cool and sunny, during our breakfast we decided to go for a walk together, after some discussion we decided to go to Felbrigg Hall once again. We have visited this National Trust property quite a few times over the years. Shortly after we settled into this windswept corner of North Norfolk, I remember a time when Margaret and I ventured to Felbrigg Hall at about 4.30am, to join a group to listen to the birdsong of the dawn chorus. We were not very lucky that day, very few birds were singing, but many cows were around feeding on the lush grass in the light of the dawn. I remember we were treated to a breakfast of egg and baked beans on toast, served with mugs of steaming hot tea, in the staff kitchen in the hall, before we returned home.

A close up of the South Front of Felbrigg Hall shows the inscription “Gloria Deo in Excelsis” that translates to “Glory to God in the highest,” and may relate to the satisfactory re-establishment of the Wyndhams at Felbrigg Hall.

A few years later, after we were settled in Norfolk, We sung with a church choir in the wonderful St Margaret’s church, that is built in the grounds of Felbrigg Hall, where there is much historical memorabilia relating to the Wyndham family, who purchased the Jacobean Hall from the original Felbrigg family, during the reign of Henry the eighth.
We have attended the annual Chilli festival here twice, and we have enjoyed picnicking in the grounds. We have also visited the interior of the hall and admired the wonderful authentic period furniture and artefacts with beautiful paintings. We are great fans of the walled kitchen garden, where there is an inhabited Dove Cote, and chickens roam freely in the gardens. I am a great admirer of the allotments section in the middle of this garden, and there are two period-style greenhouses, that contain succulents and cacti with many more tender plants and flowers. The surrounding walls are covered by espalier fruit trees, mainly pears and apples, and of course we love the excellent display of seasonal flowers, always on display.
Perhaps a highlight of these visits occurred in the Spring last year, when we visited the farm in Felbrigg hall grounds during the lambing season to watch the new-born lambs, just birthed, unsteadily tottering around in pens attached to the farm. I filmed some of these beautiful creatures taking their first taste of life in this world, with some nice photographs of the farm animals and wild birds around the farm.

We arrived at Felbrigg, to find the Hall and the gardens closed, but the car park was surprisingly full. The answer became clear when we began our walk, a large group of people dressed in warm clothing, with stout walking boots, some carrying walking sticks, approached the car park. We immediately came to the conclusion that this was an organised walking group, returning from a walk. The green fields of the estate stretched out before us, with a large flock of sheep feeding in a group, they seemed to be so close together, Margaret wondered if they were being rounded up by the farmer.

We wandered around the front of this magnificent well preserved mansion and began taking photographs of the building and the surrounding autumnal woodland. We have never visited the Orangery building and we noticed the doors were wide open, but the whole area was fenced off and the gates were locked as it was closed to the public.
We walked on around the back of the house and followed a path through the woods, where we photographed a nice little glade of snowdrops and some interesting trees. The bird life here is prolific and suddenly Margaret pointed to a large Pheasant that dashed for cover across the path in front of us. We continued along the path and I watched some squirrels diving for cover as we approached, there were numerous blackbirds and finches in the trees. We reached the end of the path to find we were fenced in, we retraced our steps and found a gate open leading into the gardens and made our way back to the car park through the gardens. We had walked at least a mile around the grounds and we were ready to return home for a welcome cup of tea and a rest, after an interesting walk.

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	Armann and Kaymann on Wild Walk – Sunday 19th…
	John Yeo on Spring Flowers
	John Yeo on Just Because
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