Issue 399 7th August 2015

Sage is for „wisdom‟, apparently, shouldn‟t expect much of that on

Monday but there will be lively discussion and CAKES!

RBW AGM 1.30pm Monday 10th August RB Library.

Normal Workshop should start at about 2.00pm.

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Observation: The weather this year has been such that things have grown massively. For instance, the bulrushes by the River Sow, where I walk my dog, are over 8 feet tall.

Things often happen in threes … first the shower started pouring scalding water down the

wall not out of the shower head, then the toilet seat fitting snapped off and then the monitor

fuse blew … and it was only Tuesday.

Isn‟t it annoying to change the fuse in the plug only to discover it was the light bulb which had blown … not the fuse. That‟s half an hour of life

I‟ll never get back again …

Being offered a nurse‟s hand to hold in the dentist chair is a bit OTT but it does show

some grown ups are really scared. I was brave: I dug my nails into my palms to confuse the pain signals to my brain: it usually works.

Bugbears: Drivers who fail to signal their

intentions and imagine I have a crystal ball and can read their minds.

FLASH FICTION: Random Words: Jacob, dry, sky, national, Ger-

manic, turnip, holiday, thicket, battle, Trafalgar

Assignment: Travellers

A warm welcome awaits. COME to WORKSHOP ... Every Monday 1.30 start Rising Brook Library

OFTEN WRONGLY USED

Yet another example of grammatical education via social media.

We all want to save the bees.

But, do we want

to save flying black beetles which swarm over windows

and nest inside air ducts infecting

kitchens and frightening children?

Pesticides

do have their uses.

www.issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

Assignment : Merry Christmas

My father bought a parrot.

“We‟ll teach him how to talk!” But though dad practiced every day,

The bird would only squawk. “Pretty Polly, pretty Polly,

Repeat this after me, Then I‟ll put you out on YouTube,

For all the world to see. Say „Who‟s a pretty fella?‟

Say „Who‟s a lovely boy?‟” But parrot, he said nothing.

He knew just how to annoy.

December 25 was on us. The family all came round For lunch and games and presents.

They heard an unexpected sound.

From underneath a teacloth Atop the parrot‟s cage

That naughty bird decided That he‟d be centre stage..

As dad proposed a festive toast, There came a raucous call.

“Gents and ladies, raise your glasses Merry Christmas one and all!”

Latest Competitions: Primers - a mentoring and publication opportunity from the Poetry School and Nine Arches Press | Closing Date: 01-Sep-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1789 The Poetry Book Fair Competition 2015 | Closing Date: 01-Sep-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1795

Ealing Magna Carta Poetry Competition 2015 | Closing Date: 04-Sep-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1802

The Salopian Poetry Society's Open Poetry Competition 2015 | Closing Date: 30-Sep-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1790

EVENT: BIRMINGHAM: Ways into Poetry residential | 10-Aug-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/events/writingpoetry/?id=11406

New Exhibitions: David Byrne's Library | 18-Aug-15 to 13-Sep-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/exhibitions/current/?id=105

Faraday's Synaptic Gap | 08-Oct-15 to 10-Dec-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/exhibitions/current/?id=106

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Gardening Tips for August ... Frances Hartley

The fruit is ripening now and so far (writing in 2012) I have frozen some Rhubarb and 2 ½ lb of Blackcurrants, but there will soon be some more Black and Red Currants, as well as Apples that are all useful to make “Crumbles,” in the Winter. While talking about fruit I must remind you to put a handful of Potash round each fruit tree and bush, twice a year, to feed them and help them to produce flowers and fruit. We have also picked our first Cherries and that reminds me that “Stoned,” fruit which include Plums, Peaches and Apricots as well, also want a bit of Lime around them to help them form the “Stones.” Our Peach and Fig trees are covered in fruits this year that are swelling nicely and our first Apricots are almost ready for eating, so I won‟t have to eat anymore dried Apricots for break-fast for a while. When cooking Red Cabbage from the allotment, I normally like to add a few Sultanas, but one-day, I hadn‟t got any, so instead I chopped up 3 or 4 dried Apricots and put those in which was quite tasty. The Tomatoes in the greenhouse seem very late fruiting this year and will need feeding regularly as soon as the tomatoes are as big as marbles. Most people don‟t bother feeding outdoor Tomatoes, but they will benefit from a feed as well. Tomatoes must have air round them to prevent Botrytis which will cause the plants to start to wilt and gradually die, so leave the top win-dow of the greenhouse open a bit at night to let the damp air escape on our hot Summer nights! If you leave the door open instead, you may get cats, foxes and even hedgehogs rooting around in your greenhouse upset-ting pots and damaging plants. Sweet Peas don‟t seem to last long in the house, but they do smell lovely as they are one of the few flowers that haven‟t had their smell bred out of them. I took a bunch up to our local luncheon club and put them in a little pot in some water on the table and every time some one went past they would stop for a sniff. Don‟t forget you must keep cutting the flowers, even if you don‟t want them! If you don‟t they will quickly go to seed and stop flowering altogether. If you hoe round the plants in your borders when the weather is dry it is a lot easier on your back than digging weeds out. You can leave the weeds on the ground in the sun and they will quickly shrivel up and die. Deeper rooted weeds such as Dandelions, Docks or Nettles do need to be dug out though. All the rain, earlier in the Summer dashed down many of the flowers, but the Geraniums are still really lovely in spite of it all. If you have any special ones, but are not good with cuttings, look out for seedpods when they have flowered. They are very thin, funny looking things, about half an inch long and cigar shaped. Carefully pick them off and dry them to get the seeds out. I find the best place is on a saucer on a window ledge.

Assignment : Merry Christmas

My father bought a parrot.

“We‟ll teach him how to talk!” But though dad practiced every day,

The bird would only squawk. “Pretty Polly, pretty Polly,

Repeat this after me, Then I‟ll put you out on YouTube,

For all the world to see. Say „Who‟s a pretty fella?‟

Say „Who‟s a lovely boy?‟” But parrot, he said nothing.

He knew just how to annoy.

December 25 was on us. The family all came round For lunch and games and presents.

They heard an unexpected sound.

From underneath a teacloth Atop the parrot‟s cage

That naughty bird decided That he‟d be centre stage..

As dad proposed a festive toast, There came a raucous call.

“Gents and ladies, raise your glasses Merry Christmas one and all!”

“ALL THAT

JAZZ”

Won the vote and

will be the next

RBW farce.

Causeway chaos.

„Blast and botheration!‟ Nigel Bluddschott wasn't one to swear; at least not within the hearing of

paying guests, but as the charabanc, up to its axles in seawater, spluttered and ground to halt he forgave himself. „Well, it could be worse,‟ he told himself, doubtfully.

Turning to the passengers he said, „We regret that the forces of nature have, temporarily, de-feated modern transport, however, you are in no danger and the luggage lorry will be along in a few minutes and will tow us out.‟ He kept the „Hopefully!‟ firmly between his teeth.

Resolutely he ignored the outbreak of, „Silly blighter‟ and a few, „Get out an' push then,‟ comments from the back.

True to his prediction, the lorry did turn up two minutes later, however, despite all his waving and shouting it surged grandly past not even pausing to offer assistance.

There was a woman in the cab who waved and shouted something as they went past.

„You're sacked, Norbert! Sacked without a reference!‟ Nigel screamed after them as the water the lorry threw up flooded into the drivers cab, soaking his shoes and trousers. The passengers, an un-

feeling lot he thought, laughed at this unexpected sideshow. On dry land, the lorry halted and a conflab took place. „No point in you going back and trying to

tow it out, Norbert. All you'd do is bog yourself down and make matters worse. We can drop the lug-gage off here and then use the lorry as a lifeboat. Just run up alongside the coach, get the guests onto the back and drop them off on land, wait for the tide to go down and bob's your uncle! All tick-

ety boo and done and dusted.‟ „That's probably the best way, Sally,‟ Norbert agreed. During the drive along the sands they'd

come to, sort of, an understanding about who called whom, what, and when, „but old Bluddschott will sack me for going past like that.‟

„Not a thing you could do, my dear Norbert.‟ The finger that was placed on his lips almost stopping his heart, but did stop him talking, „If you'd have stopped, you'd have stalled, and then where would things be? Don't worry about Tubby Bluddschott, I'll explain it to him; in simple words of one sylla-

ble.‟ With the luggage safely on the island‟s turf the 'lifeboat-lorry' was trickled gently back to the iso-

lated bus. Sally, on the strength of a claim that she'd done something like it before, was driving. Nor-bert, „Because you have the strong right arm, Norbert dear,‟ was standing on the back ready to help the stranded passengers clamber across.

Once he, and the guests of course, were safely on the back of the lorry Bluddschott tried to take charge of the rescue. Two of the older 'bright young things' decided that he would have no part of it.

One told him, „You've made a mess of driving the chara' and you'd make a mess of this lorry as

well! There's only one thing for it,‟ there was an unmistakable gesture, „gi'me a hand our Vera!‟

Nigel‟s' hat, the head of the Bluddschott finery ensemble, suddenly found itself empty, bereft of a situation, and airborne. Fortunately, for the hat, gravity intervened and found it an enjoyable

vocation afloat. For an object not specifically designed to float, it performed that duty admirably, enjoying the

sea breeze around its brim and the soothing and gentle bobbing about on the briny. But alas and alack, this employment was fated not to last! After a brief period of rest, it was overtaken by an avalanche of Nigel Thomas Bluddschottian

proportions. The unexpectedly, and suddenly, airborne Bluddschott, flailing wildly, reaching out to seize any means of support and found the hat, face first.

Unfortunately, the hat; now reunited with its owner and unable to support the weight, found itself sinking into the briny and departed the surface with a despairing 'Bloop … bloop … bloop.'

The cause of this, totally uncalled for, hat-wrecking found himself: getting to his feet beneath

the waves that lapped the top of the lorry tyres, out of breath, and blessing his school swimming instructor.

With his ears full of seawater, Nigel dimly he heard Vera bang on the cab roof and shout, „Right away lass!‟

Sally chuckled as she drove off, the exhaust burbling under water, and heard Vera say, „Do you think he can swim our Gloria?‟ and the answer of ,‟Dunno, our Vera; but he can wade well enough, even if he do keep fallin' over!‟

* * *

The isolated, slightly run-down, tea kiosk, enjoying a brief spell of bright sunlight on Trentby Sands, did an extra-ordinary amount of business for the next hour; selling out of a local, and

none too popular, brand of Quinine Tonic Water. „I only drinks it to counter the dreadful effects of seawater on us delicate constitutions,

don'tcher know our Vera!‟ as Gloria put it.

„Well, I prefers a touch o' gin in mine,‟ Vera replied, opening her commodious handbag, and refilling her half-empty bottle from a generously sized flask, „Fancy a taste, our Gloria? Just to

keep them dreadful effects out o' the constitutionals, o' course!‟

Image courtesy of

Wikipedia

Montmartre Magistrates‟ Court: Sept 1923 (SMS) „What can I say, mon ami? La soeur! A man can choose his friends, but sisters are a cross for a life-

time.‟ Bernard sighed the sigh of the weary. The sigh of the defeated. It was a sigh perfect for the blues, an exhalation of breath his saxophone knew all too well.

Errol nodded, he was too deflated to reply. The waiting room to the court was packed tight with the detritus of a Friday night, it seemed as if

all the flotsam of Paris was waiting for judgement. Nightwalkers leaned against the walls, last night‟s

drunks held their heads in their hands or twiddled with their hats in embarrassed silence. A baby was crying. A slattern woman was singing the snatch of a song a slap rang out in the gloom of a hundred

cigarettes. A gendarme had silenced the singer. Nobody minded. „How much money have you got?‟ asked Bernard counting a few francs in the palm of his hand,

he‟d still got his folding money, well, one folded note, tucked into his sock but things would have to

be really bad before that came out into daylight. „Eighteen francs,‟ replied Errol quietly. It was not enough. They both knew that. A fine for disturb-

ing the peace was at least thirty francs and for a black woman, a black woman dancer from the Red Slippers Exotic Revue Cabaret, the fine could be astronomical. Especially as it wasn‟t a first offence.

They could even send her down. Magistrates would likely take a dim view of half naked hoofers who black-bottomed their feathers

on the steps of the Basilica of Sacre-Coeur. Even he took it as a step too far.

The double doors swung back: all heads turned and Jo-Jo was suddenly there striding towards them, her high-heeled shoes clacking a Charleston beat on the marble floor. Those wretched feathers.

She was waving her headdress like a fan in front of the oversized man‟s raincoat she had tightly belted round her waist.

„How much, Sweetie?‟ asked Bernard, seeing Errol was too emotional to speak. Before she could reply Errol grabbed his sister by the arm, „You look like merde.‟ „Charmant, mon frère,‟ she snapped. „Vingt francs.‟

Bernard‟s eyebrows shot up. No way! She patted his arm. „I knew the judge. Come on, the fine table‟s over there.‟

Errol shuddered. As he and Bernard pooled their resources to pay the fine, he wondered exactly how well Jo-Jo had known that judge to get off so lightly.

They had to leave this place. They had to leave right now.

Josephine Baker dancing the Charleston at the

Folies Bergère, Paris, in 1926

The Charleston was a dance named after the city of Charleston,

South Carolina. The rhythm was popularized by a 1923 tune called

"The Charleston" by composer James P. Johnson which originated

in the Broadway show Runnin' Wild which was one of the most

popular hits of the decade.

Runnin' Wild ran from 29 October 1923 to 28 June 1924.

The Empire At Stake (ACW)

As Christiana was enjoying a quiet tea and cake before catching the train to Trentby by Sea, a familiar voice brought her out of her thoughts.

„Ah my dear beloved niece, I thought I might find you here. Your aunt informed me you were en-joying a London shopping excursion.‟

„Oh, yes, er, I‟m on my way home Uncle Arbuthnot.‟ „May I join you a moment, Christiana.‟ „Of course, Uncle.‟

Her uncle sat down opposite her and he leaned forward and whispered, „Your Publishers have in-formed me, my dear. We will speak more as I see you off to your train.‟

„Oh, yes, of course Uncle.‟ In his limousine, once set off for the railway station, Uncle Arbuthnot said to Christiana, ‟I wonder,

my dear, if you could do me, and the nation, a great service, whilst you stay at Bluddschott Hotel?‟

„Of course, Uncle.‟ „Those dratted Khaki Shorts are camping on the island, at the same time as the boys Jamboree

Summer Camp. The senior members of the Khaki Shorts will no doubt avail themselves of the hotel facilities. As you are on your own, I‟m sure they will try to make love to you, expressing undying de-

votion and utmost esteem. I‟m sure there will be musical soirees and dinner dances where such meet-ings can take place with propriety. All that would be needed is for you to express admiration of their views, for them to brag and give themselves away. I‟ll arrange a letter drop for you, to send to this

address, pretending to write to your husband every few days, my dear.‟ „Oh, how thrilling, cloak and dagger, Uncle.‟

„Yes, my dear, but the Empire is at stake.‟ „Glad to help, Uncle.‟

„I was sure you would be. Have an enjoyable two weeks, Christiana.‟ „Oh, this has made my holiday alone so much better, Uncle.‟

The Lenin Boys (ACW)

The young men huddled by the fire in the woodland surrounded by their freight trucks, just outside Trentby on Sea. „Well, comrades, I‟ve gained for us membership cards to go on the Khaki Shorts camp on the grounds of that fancy

Bluddschott Hotel island‟, informed Committee Chair, comrade St John.

„We‟re going amongst the bourgeoisie, comrade St John?‟sneered comrade Bunson-Smythe. „We must comrade Bunson-Smythe, to ensure those Khaki Shorts don‟t succeed in their coup and lessen our chances

of the revolution, brothers.‟ „With such hunger and want whilst the rich revel in such wealth, the revolution cannot be far off, brother comrades,‟

exclaimed comrade Greys-Windsor.

„Yes, indeed,‟ said comrade Bunson-Smythe, „Yes indeed comrade Greys-Windsor.‟ To end the committee meeting before the men readied to sleep the night in their wagons, ready for the journey to the

island the next day, they sang a couple of verses and the chorus of their committee song.

„Aye, this age of cant, the hypocritical and sanctimonious talk by politicians awash in wealth,‟ sneered comrade Greys-Windsor.

The Chair exclaimed, „Sing the song, boys, the Internationale.‟

Arise ye pris‟ners of starvation Arise ye wretched of the earth For justice thunders condemnation A better world‟s in birth! No more tradition‟s chains shall bind us Arise, ye slaves, no more in thrall; The earth shall rise on new foundations We have been naught, we shall be all. Arise ye workers from your slumbers Arise ye prisoners of want For reason in revolt now thunders And at last ends the age of cant. Servile masses arise, arise We‟ll change henceforth the old tradition And spurn the dust to win the prize. Refrain: ‟Tis the final conflict Let each stand in his place The International Union Shall be the human race.

Giddy guests

„We got stranded on the causeway,‟ explained a soaking wet Nigel Bluddshott, shamefacedly, to his wife as she stood, foot tapping and prune faced, in the doorway of the Hotel Bluddschott. „The … errm … tide was … errm … in further than I thought.‟

She sniffed in disbelief and demanded, „And where, NIGEL,‟ from her tone there was no doubt that he was in the dog-house, again; probably deeper than ever before, „is the charabanc, the lorry, the guests‟ luggage, not to mention the guests

themselves? Still stuck in the tideway I suppose while you, gallantly of course, rush here to dry out and tell me that you‟ve messed up a simple collection run.‟

Nigel dripped onto the marble floor for a few seconds as he contemplated his answer. He knew that his wife of three

years was wroth and wanted a quick answer. The foot tapping was all the clue he needed that marital comforts could be in short supply for some days.

„Oh the guests are safe and well, I left them in the care of Norbert, on the town beach. He‟s got strict instructions to

bring them over when the tide drops.‟ The foot tapping ceased, there was a tiny nod of approval – more of a slight twitch than a nod - and a ghost of a smile

appeared on Winifred‟s face; it seemed that marital comforts could be on the cards.

He knew he wasn‟t, exactly, out of the woods yet; but he was sure that he could square things with Norbert. „Go and get dry, Nigel. Have a good hot bath; you never know what‟s in that seawater.‟ He though that there was a tone

of approval in those words? „And, where‟s your hat? It was the one I bought you as a first wedding anniversary present as

well. Lost at sea I suppose? Well I never did like it; it didn‟t suit you at all.‟ A completely flummoxed Nigel went to do as he was told. A couple of hours passed during which: there were no fires, robberies, murders or people being sick on the carpets, the

luggage was, amidst much moaning, recovered and delivered to rooms, he charabanc was towed onto the island, guests arrived at the porte-cochère as Nigel grandly called the entrance, tea and coffee, well stewed from being kept hot, was served in the lounge, cake and biscuits, to combat shock of course, disappeared into guests and all was (reasonably) well in

the World of Hotel Bluddschott! The Head Waiter performed ceremony of the One Hour Dressing Gong by processing through the public rooms - it was

an extremely short procession but he managed it with élan - sounding the gong, and proclaiming, „One Hour to Dinner, La-dies and Gentlemen. One hour to dinner!‟

This solemn pronouncement of the most sacred hour of the day: broke up clutches of guests, flirting, comparing heav-

ens only knows what with which, reduced bar takings; and, as they only had an hour to get ready for dinner, found a line of guests forming claiming room keys and directions at the Concierge desk.

Before the last in the line had wandered off seeking: evening clothes, jewellery, baths and suchlike, another line formed.

This line was; to the uninitiated, not as unruffled as it should have been. To the cognoscenti they were verging on an-gry; a well-mannered angry of course, and couched in polite, stiff upper lip, terms, but they were not at all the happy, care-free, laughing, people they had been.

„This key won‟t fit the bally door, dontcha know!‟ the man at the front of the line complained. Another key was produced with the explanation, „Very sorry sir, thats the key to the linen room on your floor. THIS is the

key to room 123‟.

The woman behind him complained that her luggage was missing, and the one behind her that she had someone else‟s, and as if it wasn‟t obvious at first glance, she complained, „I am NOT a Mr. Anything!‟

The next was certain who she was not, „Most certainly I am not a Mrs. McFardles or something,‟ and demanded,

„Where‟s MY portmanteau with MY dresses in it?‟ Waiters, Porters, and even hurriedly cleaned up Gardeners, were summoned from the nooks, crannies and dilapidated

potting sheds where they lurked when not otherwise occupied, and were pressed into service moving luggage from room to room.

„Put ze dinner back alf of ze our!‟ screamed the chef, his best French accent slipping as did so; he wasnt too good at accents, and didnt fool anybody either, but French chefs got paid more.

„Impossiblé! Eet weell all be ruinéd! Ruinéd I am tell you! I shall ave to start again wiz ze new menu. Put it back a hour

and I somezing can do, I dont know vot, bert it vill be … unusual … food!‟ Winifred, who had broken the news to the kitchens, wasn‟t at all happy about the, pause, unusual, pause, food state-

ment.

Meanwhile, in the dining rooms, the unhappy waiters where having a little chat amongst themselves. When they ap-proached the housekeeping staff the answer was pithy, and uncomplimentary, however, they got the porters to join them and a deputation departed to, present their grievances to the management.

As she was busy, according to Nigel, heading off a nervous breakdown caused by the chef, he received the deputation in his best managerial style.

„Extra payment? Stuff and nonsense,‟ he declared. „You mucked things up so you sort things out. Go away and stop

bothering me!‟ The deputation: the headwaiter and the head gardener, promptly declared a work to rule. When asked what rules they

were working too, they answered, „We‟ll tell you when we find out.‟

Wearing his best negotiating head, Nigel threatened to sack the lot, but relented when he saw what the time was. The deputation departed with the chilling statement, „You want first class silver service for a hundred and eight covers?

You serve them and the best of British luck!‟

Griggles‟ opponents and others

While Griggles, Mossy and Windy were having tiffin in the luxurious lounge of the Hotel Bluddschott. Others had arrived on Trentby Isle.

Firstly, Jones, Griggles‟s aircraft mechanic had caught a boat over from the mainland and was making sure Griggles‟s plane was in tip top condition, fully fuelled and ready to take off at a moment‟s notice. Jones had secured a comfy billet in a small establishment looking out over the harbour. The land lady, Mrs Beaufront, a

35-year-old attractive widow had already cast her eye over Jones and not found him wanting. Jones had a similar opinion of Mrs Beaufront, who lived up to her name. Her fashionable dress did not do credit to her fig-ure but could not disguise her assets either.

The Khaki Shorts leader who was known OsbertLessly but was in fact Griggles deadly enemy Wilhelm von Eisenbahn had just arrived in his Lawley steam yacht, „The Big Chief‟. He had changed the yacht‟s name from

„The Kaiser‟ as he realised this would not go down well in England. He was looking the mirror and combing his toothbrush moustache and thinking of all the changes he would make when he ruled Great Britain. He would revert to his proper name Wilhelm von Eisenbahn, this would cause problems though because English speakers

would insist on calling him „William von Icingbarn‟. My first act, he thought, will be to ban the use of the letter „W‟. My name will be pronounced „VILLHELM‟. Whilst thinking these deep thoughts his minions had already set

up camp on the other side of the Island and were awaiting Osbert, known as „Big Shorts‟. More of the Khaki Shorts later.

Unbeknown to the Khaki Shorts the communists, known as the Lenin Boys, had infiltrated the Khaki Shorts

ranks. The leaders of the group in Trentby Isle were comrade „Ironside‟ and his trusted assistant Plotsky. They had arrived several days earlier with the main contingent of the Khaki Shorts and had helped set up camp.

To complicate matter the Boy Scouts were having a Jamboree on the Island. Their uniform was very similar to that of the Khaki Shorts and at night this confusion could give Griggles a great deal of trouble. The Boy Scouts had their own plans for night-time excursions because not far away was the Girl Guide camp. This

thought made many of the Scouts fiddle with their woggles to make sure they were in the correct position and working properly. The Girl Guides were looking forward to the night-time too. They were not the least bit wor-ried about their woggles and knew how to use them.

So there you have it, Griggles, his enemies and others all in close proximity on the holiday Isle of Trentby. (NP)

The Bright Young Things. ACW

The gaggle of girls giggled out of the first class railway car, in a mist of swirling smoke from cigarettes held aloft with aplomb, at the end of a long, sleek black cigarette holder.

„Oh darling, your frock is the cat‟s meow,‟ enthused Charlotte to Ruby. „Oh Charlotte, your cloche hat is to die for,‟ admired Ruby. „Oh we‟re swanky indeed, we‟re certainly putting on the Ritz,‟ agreed Katherine.

„Oh that swanky hip line swash ribbon is to die for, too‟, observed Charlotte to Katherine. The shocked provincial ladies watched in horror at this swirl of make-up adorned young girls giggle along the

platform, flashing silk stocking adorned ankles, followed by enthralled young porter lads trundling an array of hat

boxes and pigskin valises. The men feigned disinterest, but were caught by their wives taking an illicit peek at these daring young gals.

The threesome‟s square raised French heeled and round toed shoes of brash geometric design and colour flecked with gold, clattered along the wooden platform as the girls clung to each other in excitement of summer holidays away from the constraints of mama and pater.

„Your kiss curl, my darling Charlotte, how did you ever manage such a sleek bob,‟ admired Ruby. „Your orchid bob is so pretty, darling, and fits beautifully with your cloche hats,‟ observed Charlotte.

„Katherine, my darling, your shingle bob is so now,‟ enthused Ruby. Trailing behind these giggling gaggle of three fashionable ladies, were three young men in summer white

linen suits and straw boater hats with black and white striped hatband and three inch brim. The brothers were

much eclipsed by their sisters, with their porter lads straining to keep a glimpse of the young gals. The giggling girls were ushered by the wide-eyed driver onto the charabanc marked for the Bluddschott Hotel,

waiting out the front of the railway station, ticking them off his clipboard list, as he did with their young brothers: Charlotte Ponsby-Smythe, Eugene Ponsby-Smythe; Ruby Rawlings, Everett Rawlings; and

Katherine Wallasey and Virgil Wallasey. Charlotte took out her vanity set to repair her rouge red lipstick, that was the icing on the cake for the en-

thralled porter lads, who had to be shooed away by the charabanc driver.

An Arab king, notorious for cruelty, went on a pilgrimage to the central mosque of Damascus, where he offered prayer, seeking God‟s assistance:

“The Darvish, poor, owning nothing, the man whose money buys him anything he wants, here, on this floor, enslaved, we are equals. Nonetheless, the man who has the most comes before You bearing the greater need.” When the king was done praying, he noticed me immersed in my own prayers at the head of the prophet Yahia‟s tomb. The monarch turned to me, “I know that God favours you Darvishes because you are passionate in your worship and honest in the way you live your lives. I fear a powerful enemy, but if you add your prayers to mine, I am sure that God will protect me for your sake.” “Have mercy on the weak among your own people,” I replied, “and no one will be able to defeat you.” To break each of a poor man‟s ten fingers just because you have the strength offends God. Show compassion to those who fall before you, and others will extend their hands when you are down. The man who plants bad seed hallucinates if he expects sweet fruit at harvest time. Take the cotton from your ears! Give your people justice before justice finds you. All men and women are to each other the limbs of a single body, each of us drawn from life‟s shimmering essence, God‟s perfect pearl; and when this life we share wounds one of us, all share the hurt as if it were our own. You, who will not feel another‟s pain, you forfeit the right to be called human.

Research

Saadi, the 13th century Iranian poet‟s reputation is not unlike that of Shakespeare. Gulistan was translated into French in the 1660s by Andre du Ryer.

This work provided Europeans with their first encounter of the Muslim literary tradition.

Gulistan has been translated into many languages, including Russian and Japanese. Saadi‟s lines from the Gulistan are inscribed in the Hall of Nations in the UN building in New York.

Traveller There‟s much to unravel About our vast universe Maybe even time travel Complex and so diverse Going into warp mode In that travel machine Hope it does not explode Painted chrome green Engines one does thrust So too does, engine two Chrome does not rust Up into that sky so blue With its powerful roar Time machine has gone In seconds flat did soar As the bright sun shone Where has that machine Taken its sprightly crew Maybe bring back new gene Or even a futuristic stew

THE OWLS by Charles Baudelaire UNDER the overhanging yews, The dark owls sit in solemn state, Like stranger gods; by twos and twos Their red eyes gleam. They meditate. Motionless thus they sit and dream Until that melancholy hour When, with the sun's last fading gleam, The nightly shades assume their power. From their still attitude the wise Will learn with terror to despise All tumult, movement, and unrest; For he who follows every shade, Carries the memory in his breast, Of each unhappy journey made.

Longlist Man Booker prize 2015: An American literary agent known for his memoirs recounting struggles with crack-cocaine and

alcohol, is on the 2015 Man Booker longlist with his debut novel. Bill Clegg is one of the 13 writers competing for the £50,000 prize which now allows submissions from writers of all nationalities writing in English.

The longlist includes three debut writers and more established novelists such as Anne En-right (former winner), Marilynne Robinson, Anne Tyler and Andrew O‟Hagan. Michael Wood, who chaired the judging panel, said the judges had a great time choosing the list from the 156 books in contention.

“Discussions weren‟t always peaceful, but they were always very friendly. We were lucky in our companions and the submissions were extraordinary. The longlist could have been twice as long, but we‟re more than happy with our final choice. The range of different performances and forms of these novels is amazing. All of them do something exciting

with the language they have chosen to use.” The judges will announce a shortlist on 15th September, with a winner named on 13th October.

Author (nationality) - Title (imprint) Bill Clegg (US) - Did You Ever Have a Family (Jonathan Cape)

Anne Enright (Ireland) - The Green Road (Jonathan Cape) Marlon James (Jamaica) - A Brief History of Seven Killings (Oneworld Publications) Laila Lalami (US) - The Moor's Account (Periscope, Garnet Publishing)

Tom McCarthy (UK) - Satin Island (Jonathan Cape) Chigozie Obioma (Nigeria) - The Fishermen (ONE, Pushkin Press) Andrew O‟Hagan (UK) - The Illuminations (Faber & Faber)

Marilynne Robinson (US) - Lila (Virago) Anuradha Roy (India) - Sleeping on Jupiter (MacLehose Press, Quercus) Sunjeev Sahota (UK) - The Year of the Runaways (Picador)

Anna Smaill (New Zealand) - The Chimes (Sceptre) Anne Tyler (US) - A Spool of Blue Thread (Chatto & Windus) Hanya Yanagihara (US) - A Little Life (Picador)

COMPETITION: How to Write a Butterfly Cinquain The Butterfly Cinquain only has nine lines and is called a butterfly due to the shape the form creates once written.

Line 1 has 2 syllables.

Line 2 has 4 syllables.

Line 3 has 6 syllables.

Line 4 has 8 syllables.

Line 5 has 2 syllables.

Line 6 has 8 syllables.

Line 7 has 6 syllables.

Line 8 has 4 syllables.

Line 9 has 2 syllables.

Example of a Butterfly Cinquain:

One in a Million - A Butterfly Cinquain

My love,

You are my all,

My heart, it beats your name,

All I can think about is you,

You are

My one in a million, you …

There is no one like you!

You complete me,

My 'One'.

Competition - You can send your poem via post to: Forward Poetry, Remus House, Coltsfoot Drive, Peterborough PE2 9BF,

or email it to inbox@forwardpoetry.co.uk.

The theme for the RBW

2016 Poetry

Collection will be

LINKS

Submissions Open NOW

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Tickets for the Beyond the Barricade concert on

11th September at Sandon Hall are now available.

Beyond the Barricade - Musicals Under The Stars Oak Tree Farm Rural Project are delighted to present Beyond

the Barricade in an open-air concert within the grounds of San-

don Hall. The main Hall will form the back-drop to the concert

which will make the evening even more spectacular.

Recreating West End and Broadway hit songs performed by a

cast of past principal performers from Les Miserables, Beyond

the Barricade continues to delight audiences throughout the UK

with its exciting portrayal of songs in Musical Theatre.

Starring Andy Reiss, David Fawcett, Katie Leeming and

Rebecca Vere, this new production features songs from The

Phantom of the Opera, Miss Saigon, Wicked, The Lion King,

West Side Story, Evita, Blood Brothers, and many more.

Andy Reiss and David Fawcett devised ‘Beyond the Barricade’

after appearing in the Manchester and London

casts of Les Misérables.

Also on stage is Katie Leeming, who joined Beyond the Barri-

cade after playing the lead role of Eponine in the West End

production of Les Miserables, and Rebecca Vere who played

Cosette in Les Miserables.

The profit from the concert is to be used for '30 Years and

Growing'. This is the theme for 2016 our 30th year. '30 years

and Growing' celebrates how far the charity has come and looks

forward to developing its work with people with

learning disabilities.

Follow Musicals Under The Stars on Facebook

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Time and Tide

The 2015

Short Story

Collection

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For site link

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