The Plastic Bag.

The carrier bag is a very useful thing,

for carrying your shopping home.

Once they are empty…. what do

you do with them…  that is the thing??

Do you throw them in the bin?

hide them in a cupboard?

Do you fold them up neatly?

Blow them up and prick with a pin?

Do you let them have freedom?

To live a bag-life, blown by the wind.

So they can fly the thermals to

rival the birds in height and speed.

Is it good for them to have freedom?

Is fair to let them blow and whirl about?

What dangerous adventures they can

have dodging cars on the motorways!

Is it good for them to have freedom?

to be stuck in trees, to be deep in the sea.

To be put over heads of murder victims?

Or worse, the self-harm of suicides?

Plastic bags alone can live forever.

They do not choose to biodegrade.

What will the Geo-phiz of future

generations make of our plastic bags?

WW1. The Army is Recruiting.

In 1914, the Army was visiting

Villages, looking for strong young

Lads. Necessary, for the War Effort.

They had to be strong lads, with a

Certain height and chest measurement.

Selecting the Villages best.

Parents happily signed forms.

Their son was ‘Doing his bit.’

Excited sons, looking forward to going.

The day came, A Band arrived to lead

The teenaged sons away from home.

Proud boys followed the band.

Trains took boys to camp,

For Basic Training. Officers taught

The boys to March and to ‘Know their place.’

Wearing new but ill-fitting Uniforms, nervous

New Recruits wondered what awaited

Across the English Channel in France.

‘It will be over by Christmas.’

Rang in their ears, anxious now,

Of thoughts of all left behind.

Landing in France, then marching,

Marching into the War Zones.

Bolstering up each other’s courage.

They cannot have imagined what

War was, or meant. The tree-less

Countryside, the Trenches and noise.

Going forward to Front Lines, to go

‘Over the top!’, their fears, the smell.

The knowledge that this day could be a last.

Death, destruction, demoralised and

Distressed boy soldiers remembered

Mum’s dinners and apple pie.

Unable to cope with the lack of comfort,

Some poor distraught boys ran away.

Not meaning to desert but getting out.

The sick and frightened children were

Captured, returned to base, tried and

Sentenced to be Shot at Dawn.

Officers chose their Pals or colleagues

To join the Firing Squads and pull the triggers.

The Order was given, Bang! A boy dies.

Of those boys left behind, hopes and spirits

Die too, never to rise again. This War, that

Begun as an adventure turned to destruction.

What did the once proud parents and

Villagers feel like when they were

Informed the Village boys were

Shot at Dawn,

For Cowardice or Desertion.

The House on the Sea Front.                             July 2017.

The 999 call was made by the woman next door. She was complaining to the Operator about screaming and banging from next door a couple of nights ago but had not heard or seen her neighbour since.

The operator said ‘we will send someone round to check it out’. As she logged the call in, she thought that it was more of a P.R., exercise to pacify an elderly caller than an investigation matter.

A while later, the Police car pulled up at the house. The neighbour came out to introduce herself. She watched and waited while the two Officers knocked on the door and peered in the front window. The slimmest, Officer Browning went around the back and found a downstairs window was open. He went to the front to inform his mate, who suggested ‘Browning, you’re the youngest and slimmest you should climb in’. Browning, always the Action Man. He climbed through the window with ease, walked through the house and unlocked the front door, letting D.I. Winter in.

The two Officers methodically searched the downstairs rooms and found nothing untoward. They climbed the stairs, D.I., Winter took the front rooms, while Browning checked the bathroom and small bedroom, it was when he went into that bedroom that he found a woman’s body.

The first the Inspector knew of it, was when Browning hurtled past him, bolted down the stairs and was sick in the flower bed outside the front door. What on earth had Browning seen that made him react like that? Winter, went cautiously into the small bedroom, he paused in the doorway taking in the horrible scene, the elderly woman was laid on her back, she had pools of dried blood where her eyes should have been. Her stomach had been ripped out. Although he had years of experience, D. I. Winter, felt a little queasy as he asked himself  ‘Who could have done this?

Feeling the need to get out of the house, D.I.Winter went to his car to radio the Station for assistance ‘from all departments immediately’. He walked back to the house, where the white-faced Browning was sat on the dividing wall. The neighbour had given him some water. ‘All right lad? ‘ asked D.I.Winter, knowing that the answer was ‘No’. ‘I’m just going for a check around before the ‘circus’ gets here’.

On entering the bedroom again with his notebook in hand, although there was nothing to write in it. The room was tidy, no sign of a struggle. The bed was unruffled, all he could find was a large white feather and a couple of smaller, fluffy ones. He carefully picked them up and put them in a bag, which he labelled, What will Forensics make of these, he wondered.

Once the ‘circus’ arrived and suited and booted in protective garments, he and Browning left. He took Browning into the Station canteen and ordered two strong mugs of coffee. They sat speculating, but neither could imagine what had happened in the small room.

It was a couple of days before D. I. Winter heard from Forensics. He had a phone call, from his mate Smithy, ‘You’ll never guess what conclusion we have come to over the old lady in the bed? She was attacked by a Seagull! Remember the feathers on the pillow? All evidence points to ‘it was the Seagull that did it’

 

Inspired by staying at a Sea Front Hotel in Devon, we had seen Seagulls attacking Crows over food and cigarette packets on the Promenade. Followed by, regular visits from a young Seagull knocking on our bedroom window demanding food. It even attempted with its beak to push the open window, to open it further!!

The Dog Walkers - Yorkshire dialect conversation.                                                 

It is a bright and sunny spring morning, Jean and Ben are meeting Joyce and Molly at the entrance of the dog walking field. The dogs Ben and Molly are miniature Schnauzers.

Jean is hurrying towards her friend, the two dogs fussing and greeting.

“Hiya Molly!! Morning Joyce, it’s a goodun today!”

“Nice to see you Jean, thought you weren’t coming.”

“Oh! its ‘er Molly had hidden ‘er lead agen, took us ages to find it”

“Come on then! Molly, Ben come on, we’re off!”

“Yes let’s get a move on Jean, Don’t want to be bumping into that Nigel. I hate

that Max he’s got. It's always after our Milly’s back end.”

“Joyce, Speak of the Devil, ‘he’s coming, Max has spied Milly! You putting ‘er back on  t’ lead?

“No, I’ll leave it to Molly to sort it out”

Jean and Joyce chorus together Oh! Nigel, Morning, didn’t see you coming!”

“Morning ladies, lovely day for it. I’ve had Max to Vets, he’s picked up sommat”

“What’s ‘e got then?

“That’s expensive, seeing t’Vet”

Barking and yelping can be heard,

“Max! Get ‘ere now!! Oh my goodness, there ‘e goes, I’d better get after ‘im, bye”

“Thank Goodness he’s gone! I can’t stand that awful beard, there could be anything living in it, what do you think Jean?

“I hate it too. All is I know he smells”

“What Nigel? I hadn’t noticed”

“No, you daft mare, I meant Max”

“Look out the dogs are back”

“Been off chasing rabbits, they’ll be ready for home now”

“Ben. Milly, come ON!…...

A short dystopian story.

The Day it stopped Raining.                               

The 124 Islanders on Colonsay woke up to find they had a sunny day, first for months. They began to go about their daily routines with smiles and light steps.

Suddenly there was commotion down in the bay, two high powered boats arrived, men jumping out and shouting to the fishermen. Helicopters whirred into view and landed, more men leaping out and shouting at the villagers. Who? What? Why?

Villagers rounded up like cattle by masked and uniformed men. The men were separated and told they were to be numbered as M1, M2 … Names would no longer be used. Women pulled away from children were numbered W1, W2... Boys were next they were to be B1, B2… The sobbing and screaming handful of girls were to be G1, G2, etc. All mobile phones and things in pockets were taken away from them and confiscated.

The 40 men were lined up and marched off, the other groups stunned into shocked silence. 60 Women were taken to the Village Hall older ones were allocated to domestic chores, the younger women were taken by a Female intruder into the smaller room and the door closed.

Another female intruder, she said she was ‘Beta’, took the eight girl children into a corner of the field, she chose two of the older girls to be in charge of the younger ones. Then she began showing them initial formation and marching.

A Male intruder known as ‘Alpha’ took charge of the eleven boys, again two older ones were to be responsible for younger ones, they two formed up and started Military training.

The deafening noise of more helicopters, they dropped building materials and food supplies to the waiting men. Who were set to work by the man calling himself ‘Commandant’. He ordered stronger, younger men to haul huge prefabricated buildings into position. The rank and file intruders helped them to assemble two smaller buildings to be storage facilities. Older men were sorting out food supplies.

In the evening islanders were all brought together to share a meal prepared by the older women. They had to stay in their groups and no talking, a lot of eye contact between husbands and wives went on, communicating their sadness at enforced separation. The children we forcibly prevented from running to their parents by their ‘new’ uniformed carers. Most of the Islanders, though hungry from all the physical work done, were too distressed to eat much.

The Commandant said a few words,

“The progress made today has pleased me, tomorrow will be equally hard as we build living accommodations. Tonight the girls and woman will sleep in the village hall. The men and boys will sleep in one of the houses,. There will be no talking, no thought of escape, there is nowhere to go. My colleagues will guard you through the night, so you need not feel fearful. Dismiss!”

Each of the villagers were handed a sleeping bag as they moved to their allotted sleeping places.There was tiny movement of the mum’s fingers towards their young children as they showed off their new marching skills, led away by their new carer’s.

A Poem for Remembrance Day

"The inquisitive mind of a child"

Why are they selling poppies, Mummy?

Selling poppies in town today.

The poppies, child, are flowers of love.

For the men who marched away.

But why have they chosen a poppy, Mummy?

Why not a beautiful rose?

Because my child, men fought and died

In the fields where the poppies grow.

But why are the poppies so red, Mummy?

Why are the poppies so red?

Red is the colour of blood, my child.

The blood that our soldiers shed.

The heart of the poppy is black, Mummy.

Why does it have to be black?

Black, my child, is the symbol of grief.

For the men who never came back.

But why, Mummy are you crying so?

Your tears are giving you pain.

My tears are my fears for you my child.

For the world is forgetting again.

Author Unknown

Now that Britsih Summertime has come to an end in the U.k., our days are getting darker and our nights longer. Here is a short poem dedicated to Light days.

LIGHT.

They say, ‘the light is right,

In Cornwall’s, St. Ives,

Where a man has ‘seven wives!’

They say, ‘the light is right’,

in France’s, sunny South,

Where Van Gogh ‘lost his ear!’

What makes the light right?

Who decided that the light was right?

Why? Is the light not, where I am?

.