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ISSUE 250 Date: 17th August 2012

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Issue 250

Page 2

Jane Austen : Pride and Prejudice (1813)

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in

want of a wife. However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a

neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered

the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters. (Ch. 1)

She [Mrs. Bennet] was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper.

(Ch. 1)

"She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me; I am in no humour at present to give conse-

quence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy

her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me." (Mr Darcy to Mr. Bingley about Elizabeth Bennet;

Ch. 3)

"But I can assure you," she added, "that Lizzy does not lose much by not suiting his fancy; for he is

a most disagreeable, horrid man, not at all worth pleasing. So high and so conceited that there was no

enduring him! He walked here, and he walked there, fancying himself so very great! Not handsome

enough to dance with! I wish you had been there, my dear, to have given him one of your set-downs. I

quite detest the man." (Mrs. Bennet to Mr. Bennet about Mr. Darcy; Ch. 3)

"Oh! you are a great deal too apt, you know, to like people in general. You never see a fault in any-

body. All the world are good and agreeable in your eyes. I never heard you speak ill of a human being

in your life."

"I would not wish to be hasty in censuring anyone; but I always speak what I think."

"I know you do; and it is that which makes the wonder. With your good sense, to be so honestly

blind to the follies and nonsense of others! Affectation of candour is common enough— one meets with

it everywhere. But to be candid without ostentation or design— to take the good of everybody's charac-

ter and make it still better, and say nothing of the bad— belongs to you alone. And so you like this

man's sisters, too, do you? Their manners are not equal to his." (Elizabeth to Jane; Ch. 4)

"I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine." (Elizabeth about Darcy; Ch. 5)

"Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person

may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we

would have others think of us." (Mary; Ch. 5)

If a woman is partial to a man, and does not endeavour to conceal it, he

must find it out. (Elizabeth, about Bingley Ch. 6)

"Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If the dispositions

of the parties are ever so well known to each other or ever so similar be-

forehand, it does not advance their felicity in the least. They always con-

tinue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of vexa-

tion; and it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the per-

son with whom you are to pass your life."

"You make me laugh, Charlotte; but it is not sound. You know it is not

sound, and that you would never act in this way yourself." (Charlotte Lu-

cas and Lizzy; Ch. 6)

"Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more

agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure

which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can be-

stow." (Darcy to Miss Bingley; Ch. 6)

A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from

love to matrimony, in a moment. (Darcy to Miss Bingley, Ch. 6)

"If my children are silly, I must hope to be always sensible of it... This is the only point, I flatter my-

self, on which we do not agree. I had hoped that our sentiments coincided in every particular, but I

must so far differ from you as to think our two youngest daughters uncommonly foolish." (Mr Bennet

to his wife; Ch. 7)

"Nothing is more deceitful," said Darcy, "than the appearance of humility. It is often only careless-

ness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast." (Ch. 10)

"The power of doing anything with quickness is always prized much by the possessor, and often

without any attention to the imperfection of the performance." (Ch. 10)

Source Wikiquote

LIFE OBSERVATIONS A visit to the dentist can be a sobering experience.

New shoes smell wonderful.

Age should not be an issue unless you are a cheese or a fine wine.

If the story you are writing seems boring to you ... Guess what! It will be boring to your reader,

that is if you ever have a reader...

Writers need to read all the time ... and if you write every day you could get better at doing so.

Always remember to look at stories from every side not just one, doing so gives depth.

Life isn‘t a morality tale. Stories only need a moral base if they are destined for daytime soap

operas which seem to be forever instructing us poor folks in the red-necked values of the afflu-

ent classes. (Did you know soap operas get their name from the washing powder sponsors of the

first such programmes?)

People who are lucky enough to have a garage, - or sometimes two, - prefer to leave their cars

out on the drive.

Heard of another local disabled woman now trapped in her high rise flat after her disability allow-

ance was taken away in the benefits cuts — she‘s now had a nervous breakdown.

Higgs boson n

(physics) A hypothetical elementary particle predicted by the Standard Model; a

boson with zero spin, it is thought to give mass to other particles.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Higgs_boson

maw n

The upper digestive tract (where food enters the body), especially the mouth and

jaws of a ravenous creature.

Any great, insatiable or perilous opening.

penitent n

Feeling pain or sorrow on account of sins or offenses; repentant; contrite; sincerely

affected by a sense of guilt, and resolved on amendment of life.

Doing penance.

badinage n

Playful raillery; banter. Having the craic. (Irish) Taking the micky. Teasing.

gaggle n

A group of geese when they are on the ground or on the water.

Any group or gathering of related things; bunch.

hapless adj

Very unlucky; ill-fated.

effluvium n

A gaseous or vaporous emission, especially a foul-smelling one.

quisling n

(pejorative) A traitor who collaborates with the enemy.

disinter v

To take out of the grave or tomb; to unbury; to exhume; to dig up.

To bring out, as from a grave or hiding place; to bring from obscurity into view.

Issue 250

Page 3

One possible signature of a Higgs boson

from a simulated collision between two

protons. It decays almost immediately into

two jets of hadrons and two electrons,

visible as lines. (NB Higgs = Prof Peter

Higgs)

CLIVE’s three FREE e-books

NOW PUBLISHED on RBW and issuu

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/DynamicPage.aspx?

PageID=52

http://issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

Issue 250

Page 4

Steph’s two FREE poetry e-chapbooks now published on www.issuu.com/

risingbrookwriters

and on RBW main site

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=52

Next exhibition: Millbank Gallery, October.

Random Words: mood, pickle, Sunday, grumble, round-

abouts, surface, far-fetched, rowdy, observation – 150

words

Assignment: The gilt on the gingerbread - 400 words

2012 RBW e-books NOW PUBLISHED on RBW and issuu

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/DynamicPage.aspx?

PageID=52

http://issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

Random words SMS

Holding on to the rail as the wind, tasting of salt, whipped away the remains of his

breakfast kipper into the briny, Ellis felt awful. A sea-cruise just the prescription

for heartbreak, exactly what the doctor ordered, bracing air, new people wearing

the height of fashion, tripping the light fantastic, or so his agent had said. Of

course, it was doubtful Georgie was right, and Georgie wasn‘t here in this force

eight, he was left behind safe and sound in Glasgow, but, what really took the bis-

cuit was what constituted Georgie‘s idea of a cruise. Ellis conceded he might be a

hard-liner for accuracy, but a gig on a liner and a ferry are hardly the same thing.

He was depositing more of his Finnan-Haddie into the spume as the next line of

undulating roll hit the Dublin ferry broadside. Ellis groaned as above his head the

lifeboat, Medusa, ominously swung out and back on its snake like chains as if it

knew something he didn‘t.

Nursing a bandaged hand to his chest he let out a whispered: ‗By the Emperor, whatever have I done to de-

serve such a fate?‘

‗Quiet my Lord, are you quite mad?‘ a voice whispered from below his elbow. The mutant priest looked down

at the Varfling, who had silently appeared, by some dark magic, at his side. ‗Saying that name out loud could

get a whole man killed never mind a,‘ he paused, uncertain, ‗a ... emm ... a mutant.‘

They fell easily into step, the hooded figure easing back his pace to accommodate the waddling stride,

greater girth and shorter stature of his new companion. The demented cries died away as they rounded the

corner and entered the world of secluded courts and narrow lanes which made up the entrance to the town-

ship of Ichard‘s Entry. As they stumbled forwards through the collapsed debris of long-silent shelled-out build-

ings Vedic Li‘s good eye wandered along the length of the narrow cutting: a gully through deserted ruins of a

civilization long gone eons ago which denoted the urban most boundary to the territory of the GillScar Pack. No

movement! He was safer here. Amongst friends? Uncertain.

‗I‘ll never get used to the hatred. Am I really such a creature of the night to deserve scorn from fellow survi-

vors?‘

‗‗Fellow survivors‘ – I‘ve never heard Goaths called that before,‘ said the Varfling, tripping over the dangling

tip of the sword blade buckled at his belt, at the same time rucking up a splendid broad nose, which domi-

nated half his face, in a loud sniff of home turf. Vedic Li noted with an unseen smile how quickly the boy had

grown from a prancing, noisy child into this broad, squat youth possessed of a complexion as tough as tanned

leather. Like all southern Varfs, who grew up in the warmth of perennial sun-glow, his weathered cheeks crin-

kled like the shell of a walnut, around deep-set eyes the colour of honey-gold. These telling eyes creased in an

expression of sheer pleasure on passing the sentinel post which marked the boundaries of GillScar territory.

That nose sniffed in recognition of a patrol‘s recent presence – urinating on sentinel posts might be crude

communication but in a low tech world: it worked. They could breathe easier now.

‗Hahn ben GillScar you have a traveller‘s thanks. But tell me, when did you last wear that suit?‘

Hahn grimaced at the jibe. His going to court suit was too short in the leg and too narrow in the belly. ‗Never

mind my lack of courtly fashion. You won‘t be travelling far if you keep saying the forbidden name of the Em-

peror out loud. Goath patrols would string up a mutant as soon as look at you. Your old religion is banned. All

old earth-magic is barred, you know that.‘ The Varfling dropped his eyes onto the turned up toes of newly shod

boots as both rosy-apple cheeks matched their scarlet colour. What an awful thing to say to a mutant priest.

Even a rude one. Why could he never keep his mouth in check?

‗Sorry Vedic. You don‘t need religious instruction from the likes of me? Me and my mouth, eh! Never got the

hang of diplomacy. Don‘t tell . .‘

‗Your father? No, my son. I wouldn‘t dream of it, not after his brave warrior has escorted me from the hold-

ings of the Goaths and offered me safe passage to his Hall.‘

Hahn didn‘t remember doing any such thing but, as he was going home anyway, it didn‘t seem too far re-

moved from the truth to warrant a quarrel with the scribe. Although, he had been oft-times warned that mutant

mind control was always something to be guarded against. ‗Vedics are always trouble,‘ preached his father. ‗A

man can‘t even keep his own thoughts to himself when they‘re around. Blast them!‘

‗Besides, I have a surprising thing to show your Lord.‘

A full-moon face broke into a tooth-filled grin. ‗A present! I like presents. Especially shiny ones.‘ He hesi-

tated, Vedic Li‘s intuition felt the excitement welling up inside the boy like a spring. ‗Don‘t suppose you can tell

me ... No, guess not, eh?‘

The face mask nodded in affirmation. Varflings were easier to handle than Goaths, any day. ‗Tis of little se-

cret, your father‘s the Deputy Marshal. A high office. His protection could keep a traveller hidden long enough

to begin his mission in earnest and safe from the clutches of the Seneschal.‘

‗You‘ve been his ‗guest‘ then of late? Geoffrey FitzGerald, Seneschal of Stackham Igraine? He has a long

reach when he wants something. You‘ve not got something he wants, have you?‘

With one of his three remaining fingers Vedic Li felt along the seam of the secreted bag hanging from a

strap under his armpit. There still safe inside that with which he had been entrusted. If he fell into the graces of

the Seneschal again the number of precious digits could easily diminish. Hahn noticed the fresh wound

wrapped in the strip of sacking, but decided against a direct question, noticing that the priest was in no hurry

to answer his last.

‗Have you travelled far?‘ asked Hahn doubling his stride to keep in step with the Vedic, whose physical de-

formities didn‘t seem to slow walking pace over much. No response was offered. Hahn changed tack. ‗I wonder

what‘s on the spit. It‘s been hours since breaking fast. Are you hungry?‘ Hahn‘s stomach growled in annoyance

at the speed of the unaccustomed exercise. He didn‘t feel the need to mention an unsanctioned excursion to

the village tavern had been curtailed by the Vedic‘s unexpected arrival.

‗What sort of a question is that of a Vedic?‘

Issue 242

Page 6

Geraldine finished cashing up the till and stuffed the meagre takings into a bank

bag, £23.62. Not a rich haul for a Saturday, she thought, once again decidedly glad

that only she was on salary, all the rest of the staff being voluntary. As she wan-

dered along the High Street heading for the night-safe on the corner of the Market

Square she almost fell over a man lying flat on his face on the pavement.

‗Oh my goodness,‘ she cried whipping off her cardigan and bundling it into a pil-

low shape, ‗don‘t worry dear, I‘m a first aider.‘ This wasn‘t strictly true as she had

failed the obligatory shop management first aid course, but any port in a storm.

Forcing the cardi bundle under his head, she realised she was acquainted with the

prone person, who was now crossly staring up into her rather curvaceous balcony

which was overpoweringly close to his nose.

‗Could you get off me please, Geraldine,‘ said a muffled voice. ‗I‘m not ill. I‘ve

dropped my fob watch down the storm drain.‘

Geraldine followed his eye-line towards the gutter, where indeed the man‘s right

arm was delving below the surface of a slatted iron grid.

‗Oh I‘m so sorry,‘ she muttered, retrieving her cardigan rather more smartish that

she intended and succeeding in banging his head against the paving stone.

Timothy Toogood rubbed his head good naturedly with his free hand and unfortu-

nately shifted position and thus pinioned his right arm tight fast inside the storm

drain. ‗It‘s stuck,‘ he said stating the obvious.

Geraldine coloured, this was all her fault. ‗I should have minded my own busi-

ness,‘ she said crestfallen.

‗You meant well,‘ he replied gallantly as a crowd began to gather.

‗He‘s stuck,‘ said Geraldine, mopping his brow with her hanky. He didn‘t object to

this familiarity or to the fact that one of Lord Lionel‘s amply endowed mistresses (it

was common knowledge, to everyone except Cynthia, of course, what with her be-

ing the other one) was adopting a motherly dose of concern for his predicament.

Dr Toogood didn‘t mind that she stayed with him when the fire-brigade arrived to

cut the grid to release his swollen arm, or that his fob-watch, inscribed with hiero-

glyphs, when retrieved was mangled beyond recognition. He didn‘t mind at all

when Geraldine, ‘No worries, I insist,‘ insisted on driving him home in her four-by-

four, or when she stayed to share a take-away chow mein, or the bottles of red that

followed, and then with blues on the record player and a dash of gentlemanly good

manners listening to her damsel-in-distress tale of woe: ‘Gone without a word!‘ So

Lord Lionel had gone walkabout without a word of farewell, leaving her high and dry

without so much as a gilt-edged investment in her name. ‗You can‘t drive after a

bottle of red, can you?‘ So one thing inevitably led to another after the Dr of Egyptol-

ogy unleashed his ponytail for

the first time in many a long year

and let all seventeen cats out of

his cottage for an unexpected

night on the tiles.

Once again the scarab had

worked it‘s magic on those un-

suspecting souls whose hands it

had figuratively, if not literally,

passed through.

© Lazar_x | Stock Free Images & Dreamstime Stock Photos

After a delightful evening with Tom, Jean went home to bed. She lay there thinking about

her coming marriage and started to panic. There was so much to do and so little time. It had

to be a white wedding, of course with bridesmaids, a best man, ushers, a wedding feast fit for

a king, a wedding dress fit for a princess. Should she wear a veil? She couldn‘t decide. She

would think of that later. Who should she invite? She thought about the guest list, who to in-

vite, who to avoid? Should that be whom to invite, whom to avoid? She couldn‘t decide. Did it

really matter? Yes, of course it did. Everything had to be perfect. How much to spend? It was

difficult. She couldn‘t decide. Who would print the invitations? What if the grammar was wrong

on the cards? Would Tom be mad? She couldn‘t decide. Who would do the catering? She

couldn‘t decide. Should she colour her hair? Change her hairstyle? Go on a diet? Get her legs

waxed? Book the church? Talk to the vicar tomorrow? Book a photographer? Book the wed-

ding cars? Book the florist? She couldn‘t decide and her head was spinning. She felt like run-

ning away, cancelling the wedding, screaming, No! ‗No! No! at the top of her voice. Banging

her head against the wall, taking a handful of sleeping tablets. She desperately needed to

sleep. To sleep perchance to sleeeeee..z z z z z z z…

Often, when she was doing her Open University course, Jean would have a problem that

seemed insoluble, but after a good night‘s sleep, the solution was clear and the problem was

no longer a problem. Perhaps that would happen as she slept tonight…She hoped it would …In

her mind‘s eye she pictured herself…desirable and lovely in a really unusual wedding gown,

made entirely of pink roses; a dream of a dress; a midsummer‘s night‘s dream of a dress. As if

by magic her wedding day had been sorted out as she slept.

She was the proud possessor of something old, something new, something borrowed and

something blue. The pretty scarab broach, she wore in her hair complimented her pretty blue

eyes and fitted all the superstitious requirements of the day. Four problems neatly solved by

one small Egyptian nick-knack. Why had she bothered wracking her brain about the wedding

organisation when it could be so easily fixed?

The church service was really delightful even though the vicar was wearing a wet suit. No-

body thought this was strange and everyone enjoyed the joke when he began the service with,

‗Dearly beloved, we are gathered on this sad occasion to mourn the passing of Jean and

Tom… Everybody held their breath until the vicar said, brightly, ‗Only joking!‘ and then the

guests laughed hysterically. They were even more amused when the vicar told Tom there was

no need to kiss the bride, as he would do that onerous chore for him. There was such a happy

atmosphere in church and that continued in the reception room at the Trentby Twelve Star Ho-

tel. The table was set thoughtfully with the staff of the ‗Puss in Boots‘ charity shop down one

side and, facing them the staff of ‗Gone To the Dogs‘.

At the top table were Tom Green and Jean Grabble who, since the vicar‘s kiss, had become

Mr and Mrs Thomas James Green. How she had enjoyed that lingering kiss! A holy moment

she would never forget. The best man was Jean‘s brother, Mick, and instead of making the

usual boring speech he acted out each word as if he were playing Charades. Unsurprisingly,

the speech took an abnormally long time to deliver, but the guests who were still awake, had

great fun guessing.

Tom‘s sister‘s, Megan and Barbara, were bridesmaids and someone had thoughtfully

seated the girls between the town‘s two cross-dressers, Police Constable Smithers and the

Honourable Jason Fortesque-Chumleigh. They drooled over the bridesmaid‘s stylish outfits

and it was endearing to hear the two men begging the girls to swap their wedding clothes with

them.

There was a slight hitch at the last moment when the wedding cars from Trentby Cabs

turned into pumpkins, but almost immediately colourful hobbyhorses replaced them. What a

splendid spectacle the wedding party made as they trotted happily on their wooden steeds

from the church to the Trentby Twelve Star Hotel.

A long beautifully laid table awaited them. The seating plan said,

CATS ON THE RIGHT... DOGS ON THE LEFT.

Cynthia Saunders, Manageress of the Puss in Boots, led her team to their

places. Timothy Toogood, volunteer and Egyptologist, owner of 17 demanding cats,

tip-toed behind. Then came Cyril, Dylis, Iris and Evadne.

Evadne had made a valiant effort with the table decorations. Each place setting

had a sweet knitted cat beside it. How was Evadne to know that half way through

the meal those woolly cats would come to life and run amok? Her grandson, Maxie,

must have anticipated something like this because he had brought a loaded water

pistol with him. He helped the waiters deal with this unwelcome distraction and,

apart from a few scratches and splashes, no real harm was done.

On the opposite side of the table the Gone to the Dogs staff were led to their

places by Michael Grabble. Following him were Rosemary Thorne, Randolph Ando-

ver and Danny Smithers.

There was just one worry as Jean glanced round the table, an empty seat.

Surely nobody in Trentby would refuse to join in their joyful celebrations. Who was

missing? Jean pondered for a few moments and looking round the table realised

that Colonel Lionel Bluddschott OBE wasn‘t there. In his place sat an enormous Nile

crocodile called Reggie, its front feet resting rudely on the starched white table-

cloth. Jean went over to reprimand the unpleasant creature and it coughed vio-

lently, vomiting up a rather slimy person. It was Colonel Lionel Bluddschott OBE and

although the poor man had been dead for some time, once he dried his face on a

clean napkin, he was completely recognisable, and true to form, he ordered a dou-

ble brandy.

The wedding had been a triumph and, to Jean‘s relief, she hadn‘t had to organ-

ise a thing. She stretched as she woke the next morning. The phone was ringing. It

was Tom. Jean was angry, ‗I haven‘t got time to talk to you,‘ she snapped. ‗I‘ve got a

wedding to organise…‘

(Editor‘s note: this excellent dream sequence piece by YW will be inserted prior to

the wedding and honeymoon pieces)

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2012/aug/10/carol-ann-duffy-

olympics-london?newsfeed=true

Carol Ann Duffy

The poet laureate captures the spirit

of the Olympics in this poem.

Ever heard of the Suffragettes?

Think their suffering should be forgotten?

Are courageous women‘s contributions to

heritage worth showing to future generations?

The Women‘s Library is a store house of

women‘s history. This important archive has

been under threat of closure despite drawing

thousands of people through its doors every

year.

The Women's Library was established in

1926 and operated by the Fawcett Society

until 1977 when moved to City Polytechnic,

now part of London Metropolitan University. It holds in excess of 60,000 books and pam-

phlets, over 500 archives and an Accredited collection of 4,000 objects documenting

women's campaigning activities.

An online campaign and petition (currently of 12,000 signatories) has been launched

to save the Women‘s Library , following an announcement that it must be moved or drasti-

cally cut opening hours from five to just one day a week for three years, with a further re-

view at the end of that period. The London Metropolitan University set up a working group

in December 2011 to look at options for its special collections, which include the Women‘s

Library and the Trades Union Congress (TUC) Library Collections. It wants to save £1m a

year.

It is reported that in a statement, Malcolm Gillies, the university‘s vice-chancellor, said

that although the libraries‘ collections are of national significance, much of their usage is

from outside the university.

The university wants to construct a lecture theatre within the library building at

Aldgate. Apparently in March 2012 London Metropolitan University governors decided to

seek alternative ownership of The Women‘s Library. Since then the University has received

a great deal of interest which has resulted in seven organisations currently preparing bids

to acquire the collections. Some of the bidders are:

Senate House, University of London

Manchester City Council

London School of Economics, University of London

Warwick University and University of York

Assignment - When did you last

see that suit?

Back in the nineteen fifties,

When I was nobbut a lass,

School dresses were starched. Off to lessons

we marched.

There were thirty nine kids in our class.

‗Neath our skirts we had pretty net pettis.

Mine resembled a big powder puff.

When it came to the number of layers, we play-

ers,

Thought a girl just could not get enough!

In the sixties we went psychedelic.

Wearing strange things like stiff PVC.

Fashionista Ms Quant gave the boys what they

want,

Lots of flesh way over the knee.

We had maxis and midis and minis.

Different skirt lengths were then all the rage.

When you‘ve got decent legs and nice shapely

pegs,

Well, they‘re fine for those of the right age.

Then along came the Mods and the Rockers,

With drainpipe pants and sharp shoes.

Riding on bikes and engaging in fights,

They were always making the news.

Our hair was combed high in a bouffant,

And sprayed till it felt hard like steel.

We thought we looked hot, though praps we did

not,

And hoped we‘d have mass sex appeal.

Then as a student at college,

Hot pants and bell-bottoms were in.

My red cat suit was cool and made the boys

drool.

It even set a few hearts in a spin.

We tottered around on stilettos.

Though they pinched and were murder to wear.

We thought they looked neat though they ru-

ined our feet,

At that age, well you really don‘t care.

A few years went by and the fashions changed,

Kipper tie for a man, trouser suit for a girl.

By then youth had flown, my looks were gone.

It had all passed me by in a whirl.

I‘m no longer a slim teenage dolly,

With small waist, - and what‘s even worse,

At age sixty four, there‘s more of me, for sure.

Yes indeed, middle-age is a curse!

.

But we don‘t want to end on a sad note.

So to all who might feel just like me,

Here‘s a word of advice, fashions change in a

trice,

Check your wardrobe and then you will see.

I was ever the one for a bargain,

Never throwing one item away,

If you wait long enough, and hang on to your

stuff,

It‘ll come back in fashion some day!

PMW

Random words PMW

Life was tough for the sailors on HMS Medusa. For a start, the captain was a hard-

liner, and didn‘t suffer fools gladly. Rations were in short supply, consisting mainly of

salt biscuits and kippers. The men had hammocks, which undulated with the motion

of the sea. Four seamen slept in a bay behind a curtain; - their only privacy, and just

about the sole leisure activity was scrimshaw work, whereby the men would fashion

wonderful works of art from animal bones or pieces of wood. However, it was a happy

ship, because the captain‘s prescription was to splice the main brace twice a day,

and give the crew liberal rum rations.

It has been decided that with so many people

saying they will be away on

holiday this month that the annual lunch will be

postponed until later in the year.

The AGM will go ahead on Monday 20th August

at the library at 1.30pm as usual.

Random words CMH

The builders looked at the roof and chatted about what to do with the hole they

were trying to mend. ―We could always chisel it out a bit bigger,‖ said the fat one

called Fred.

―What good would that do?‖ said the tall one, known as Baz.

―Then we can get at the weaker bits. Don‘t forget that this has been here for

more than a second or so; a good while in fact, and it‘s bound to have had some

mal-adventure in its time.‖

Baz thought about it for a second or so, and then said, ―Pass the hammer over,

Fred.‖

―Not too hard though, Baz and not too big either. This here‘s a work of art and

you don‘t go…‖ he was too late. Baz, too heavy for light work, had wielded the

hammer, firmly.

―Now you‘ve jiggered it, Baz.‖ Fred said sticking his hand into the hole. ―What‘s

all this?‖

He proceeded to pull out a variety of articles.

―A miniature bottle of whiskey, well I suppose that that fits with a dolls house, an

old dolls petticoat, and a … this!‖

―Dead easy that one Fred. An armadillo‘s given up the ghost. Been wafted of to

armadillo heaven and left us this skin in remembrance.‖

―Baz, I always knew you was a daft beggar and that‘s proved it. Hand me that

plywood and we‘ll make a new roof to fit!‖

Cryptic clue.

Between n and p, these lame choices have been the pride

of the nation.

RBW has been sending

out weekly bulletins for

five years and running for

seven years.

The charity has produced

farces, poetry collections,

memories books, put on

outside events, drama

days, poetry recitals, car-

boot sales, County Show

stands, held book sales

and raffles. Gone on tour

since 2006 spreading

our works and words in

the community.

RBW has been on

radio, produced

CDs, DVDs, MP3

tracks, made

videos, produced

over a dozen

books and now

makes e-books

and has a main

website, a face-

book page and

appears on other

social media

sites.

Jubilee Games

It was in 1897 Victoria’s Jubilee

Throughout the land they schemed and planned

From high born halls to village schools

For fetes with buns and tea.

One village school in Worcestershire

Was planning children’s races

With skipping ropes and balls and hoops

Each child to show their paces.

The paddock at the big house would make the day a draw

The teacher measured out the runs

While mothers made the tea and buns

The men brought bales of straw.

In the running race for ten year olds Lottie was at her best

After one, two, three and away they go

Across the field in a ragged row

She was soon ahead of the rest.

Next day, her father said, 'Let's see,'

About your shilling prize.

They went to town on the local train

Bought new boots for the Winter rain

Would be round again with muddy lanes.

After Victoria’s Jubilee.

(EH)

A Diamond Jubilee is a celebration held to mark a 75th anniversary, but only the 60th anniversary in the case of a

monarch (i.e. length of time a monarch has reigned). There was considerable national unrest when Queen Victoria

withdrew from public life after Albert’s death in 1861. It was decided to bring the diamond jubilee forward to the 60th

anniversary on 22 June, 1897. Images Wikipedia — B/W photo taken in 1882 by A Bassano — Coronation portrait by

George Hayter

The Diamond Jubilee of Queen Elizabeth II, celebrated on 2 June, 2012, was only the second in the country's history.

There is film footage on YouTube and the link below is interesting:-

http://www.lichfieldgazette.co.uk/free-diamond-jubilee-youth-concert-tuesday-5th-june-2012/

http://www.thepoetrytrust.org/stuff

Newsletter from the Poetry Trust — new edition now online

Charles Dickens statue delayed over funding —

50% shortfall

Unfortunately, the UK's first statue to commemorate Charles Dickens due to be unveiled this

summer in Portsmouth is not going to be ready until 2013. It was hoped by the author‘s fam-

ily, and supporters, that the writer's statue would be in place in 2012 to mark 200 years since

their famous ancestor‘s birth. A fund-raising shortfall of half the money required to complete

the £120,000 monument has put the project on hold. It is hoped the sculpture will now be

ready to be unveiled on Dickens' birthday in February 2013—finances permitting.

The project is being organised by the Dickens Fellowship. The statue, which depicts a seated

Dickens reading in a chair, is being produced by Oxford sculptor, Martin Jennings. However, in

his will the Victorian author requested that no statues of him should ever be built. To date the

author has two statues in his honour, in Philadelphia and Sydney, Australia. Dickens was

born in Portsmouth on 7 February 1812 and spent 3 years

in the city before moving to London and then Kent. Number

1 Mile End Terrace, where he was born, has been a dedi-

cated as a Dickens museum.

Ian and Gerald Dickens, great-great-grandsons of Charles

Dickens, have taken up the challenge to raise £10,000 for

The National Literacy Trust charity and the Charles Dickens

Statue Fund during this Dickens bi-centennial year. Starting

from Golden Square in London on Sunday 5 August their

route followed that taken by Nicholas Nickleby and his

friend Smike in Dickens‘s classic.

http://dickenswalking.blogspot.co.uk/

Accompanied for the first five miles by other Dickens family members, their route took them

west out of London, through Kingston, Guildford and Godalming (where Nicholas and Smike

stopped for the night) before continuing towards the South Downs via the Devil's Punchbowl

at Hindhead, Petersfield and Rowlands Castle (at the Robin Hood Inn) where Gerald per-

formed one of his one-man shows.

On their arrival in Portsmouth, they passed the Charles Dickens Birthplace Museum and then

on through Old Portsmouth to Guildhall Square, to the spot where sculptor Martin Jennings

statue will eventually be unveiled. Their journey had overnight stops in Esher, Godalming, Pe-

tersfield and Rowland's Castle. Their arrival into Portsmouth‘s Guildhall Square coincided with

the opening ceremony of the Dickens Fellowship International Conference, which was being

held in the city for the bicentenary year.

All funds raised from the walk were split between the Charles Dickens Statue Fund and the

National Literacy Trust.

Issue 250

Page 16

Frank Crumit (September 26, 1889 – September 7, 1943)

was an American singer, composer.

radio entertainer and vaudeville star

who played ukulele and piano.

He appeared on radio programs with

his wife, Julia Sanderson, the two were

often billed as "the ideal couple of the

air."

His biggest hits were made during the 1920s and early 1930s; they included

popular phonograph records of "Frankie and Johnnie", "Abdul Abulbul Amir", "A

Gay Caballero" , "The Prune Song", "There's No-one With Endurance Like The Man

Who Sells Insurance", "Down In De Canebrake", "I Wish That I'd Been Born in Bor-

neo", "What Kind of a Noise Annoys an Oyster?", and "I Learned About Women

From Her".

Crumit composed at least 50 songs in his career, including the Ohio State Univer-

sity song, "Buckeye Battle Cry" in 1919 for a song contest. He composed and pub-

lished "Hills of Ohio" in 1941. His back-to-back recording of '"The Gay Caballero"'

and '"Abdul Abulbul Amir"' sold more than 4 million records.

Crumit was born in Jackson, Ohio, the son of Frank and Mary Poore Crumit. He made his first

stage appearance at the age of five in a minstrel show. Crumit graduated from high school in

1907. After briefly attending an Indiana military academy, he entered Ohio University to follow

his grandfather, Dr. C. K. Crumit, who had been a medical doctor. He graduated from with a de-

gree in electrical engineering.

However, his love of music and theatre dated back to his early years in the Methodist Church

choir. He studied voice in Cincinnati. By 1913, in his early 20s, he was performing in vaudeville,

first with a trio and then on his own, playing ukulele; he was referred to as "the one-man glee

club" in New York City's night spots. He appeared in the Broadway musical Betty Be Good in

1918 and went on to Greenwich Village Follies of 1920, which featured the hit song, "Sweet

Lady." Crumit began making records for American Columbia in 1919.

He met Julia Sanderson, then a musical comedy star, in 1922. Two divorces later, Crumit and

Sanderson were married in 1928. In 1930 they began working as a radio team, singing duets

and comedy dialogues as the "Singing Sweethearts." In 1930, they formed a popular radio quiz

show, The Battle of the Sexes, which ran 13 years. It is claimed Crumit and Sanderson drove

from Massachusetts to New York City, a four-hour trip, twice a week to perform their radio show.

Their final broadcast was aired the day before Mr. Crumit died from a heart attack in New York

on September 7, 1943.

Source material and image Wikipedia (Thank you to MB for remembering Mr Crumit‘s work and for singing the ‗old arm chair‘ for me .)

(Known as "Granny's Old Arm-Chair")

Song and Chorus

Composed and Sung by

Frank B. Carr

America's Motto Vocalist.

Frank Crumit recorded this song previously

written in 1880

Granny's Old Arm-Chair

1. My Granny, do you see, at the age of

eighty three,

One day was taken ill and soon she died;

And after she was dead,

The will to us was read,

By a Lawyer as we stood side by side

To my Brother then I found,

She had left a Hundred pounds,

And the same unto my sister I declare,

But when he came to me,

―Ah‖ the Lawyer says ―I see,

She‘s but left to you her Old arm chair.‖

[CHORUS sung after each verse]

Hey they tittered! how they chaffed!

How my brothers and my sisters laughed,

When they heard the Law yer declare,

Granny only left to me her old arm chair.

2. Now I thought it hardly fair, yet I said I did

not care,

And in the evening took the chair away;

The Neighbours at me laughed,

And my Brother at me chaffed,

And he said ―it will come handy John one day

When you‘re settled down in life,

Take some young girl for your wife,

And then you will be happy I declare,

And when at home at night,

and your fire is burning bright,

You can sit down in your Old arm chair.‖

3. What my brother said came true, for in

about a year or two

I soon was settled down in married life;

I first a girl did court,

And then the ring I bought,

Took her to church and soon she was my

wife

Now the old girl and me,

We‘re as happy as can be,

And when my work is over I declare,

―Abroad I never roam,

and at night I stay at home,

And sit down in my Old arm chair.‖

4. Now one night the chair I found had fallen

to the ground,

And the bottom had dropped out upon the

floor;

And there to my surprise,

And right before my eyes,

Laid some banknotes of ten thousand

pounds or more,

When my Brother heard of this,

Now the fellow I confess

And mad with rage he almost tore his hair,

When I said ―now brother Jim

don‘t you think it is a sin

That you didn‘t get the old arm chair.‖

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