ISSUE 310 Date: 1st November 2013

Remember, remember!

The fifth of November.

Gunpowder, treason and plot ...

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There are other versions, this one is from the 1870s:

Fifth of November

Remember, remember!

The fifth of November,

Gunpowder, treason and plot;

I know of no reason

Why the Gunpowder treason

Should ever be forgot!

Guy Fawkes and his companions

Did the scheme contrive,

To blow the King and Parliament

All up alive.

Threescore barrels, laid below,

To prove old England's overthrow.

But, by God's providence, him they catch,

With a dark lantern, lighting a match!

A stick and a stake

For King James's sake!

If you won't give me one,

I'll take two,

The better for me,

And the worse for you.

A penn'orth of cheese to choke him,

A pint of beer to wash it down,

And a jolly good fire to burn him.

Holloa, boys! holloa, boys! make the bells ring!

Holloa, boys! holloa boys! God save the King!

Hip, hip, hooor-r-r-ray!

LIFE OBSERVATIONS So you‟ve unpacked your new kitchen appliance and are left with a mound of tough plastic and polystyrene. The plastic can be recycled in the blue bin but the polystyrene goes in the green bin. Does that mean it ALL goes to landfill?What everybody‟s? Everyone in the country who buys a new washer, or dryer, or fridge or ... Does all that polystyrene go to landfill? Crikey! http://cms.ems-internet.co.uk/37101/info-facts Apparently there is now a recycling option based in Manchester only most Councils don‟t seem to be using it! Typical!

“Political correctness is the natural continuum from the party line. What we are seeing once again is a self-appointed group of vigilantes impos-ing their views on others. It is a heritage of communism, but they don‟t seem to see this.” Doris Lessing (Nobel Prize Winner)

When you come to a fork in the road, take it. Education is learning what you didn't even know you didn't know.

Issue 310

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PALINDROME noun text reading the same backwards and

forwards, a word, a phrase or number of words e.g. Anna, draw

o coward; can also mean a mirror-image DNA sequence

CLEVER WORDS Trying to be clever with big words Is something for the early birds „Sorry Madam but I do not know a palindrome from Adam I will have to ask Eve,‟ said the Bishop to the nun „You call this word game - a kind of fun?‟ Michael Palin a roamin‟ round Rome now that you could call a Palindrome! Well, I don‟t really care cos I am not very well I have a bad cough and my throat hurts like hell I rushed my dinner of chips, mushy peas, bake beans, three eggs and a bombastic pie I may have indigestion I am too young to die! I may be male but I don‟t think I am eating junk It‟s all washed down with real ale It just has to be drunk. Now the Witches of old They liked their brew up and the woods they would roam chanting strange random words like - "Palindrome"!! October 2013 Paul Pittam

2013: RBW FREE e-books PUBLISHED on RBW and issuu.com

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=78

http://issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

Steph’s & Clive’s FREE e- books published

on

www.issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

and on RBW main site

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/

DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=52

2012: RBW FREE e-books

PUBLISHED on RBW and issuu.com

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/

DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=52

http://issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

Random Words: Same as last week Assignment: Same as last week

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=79

“It's all the fault of that blacksmith you know? If he hadn't hit you with that rattle thing he invented you wouldn't have had this problem.”

“Problem? What problem's that Bas?” “That .. erm .. what did that head

doctor call it? Plausible brain fog wasn't it, Al?

“Don't remember that Bas. But then I'm on edge 'cos of my annual check up.”

“Check up! What for? I mean you look all right.” “Well, it's me head. I've got it into me head that I'm a public servant.” “You? A public servant; you've got to be joking! You'd need a cantilever

crane arm to get that far.” “But it's got to be right. It's what I said when I got on the council.” (CMH)

Issue 282

Page 5

Issue 310

Page 4

Submissions for the RBW 2014 Short Story Collection

Roads Less Travelled are now invited.

All contributors must be registered with RBW Library Workshop or be weekly

email pdf recipients

Submit in the usual way. Closing date for submissions

30th Nov 2013 2,000 words or less.

RBW team are delighted to announce the RBW

2013 comedy, King Harffa and the Slightly Ob-

long Table of Trentby, which has a knavish

chuckle at the expense of our Arthurian heritage,

has now been published as a free e-book on

Facebook,

www.issuu.com/risingbrookwriters and the

main RBW website:

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/

DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=78

RBW team are delighted to announce the

RBW 2013 memories collection, has

been published this week as a free e-

book on Facebook, www.issuu.com/

risingbrookwriters and

the main RBW website:

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/

DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=79

Today we will go shopping, D.I.Y. the game My husband‟s started whittling, only myself to blame! He‟s joined the Wednesday pensioners less ten per cent in hand, Who roam the aisles for bargains in peat and moss or sand. People who have purpose, look of hunger in their eyes, Because they‟re paying less than you ordinary guys! Paint becomes appealing, paper no longer palls, Drill bits take on extra charm - screw new picture hooks to walls. The trolleys will be filling, and the wife will be content, Bless B&Q on Wednesday‟s - B&Q less ten per cent!

Assignment: Half term/Confession Coming clean can feel good, Or it can land you in more trouble Nowadays it‟s out of Fashion. Except for Catholics. Salvation from your Sins is Incongruous to many Only I disagree- Naturally! How is it that All the time I was working, I was Looking Forward so much to half term? These days, Every day is the same since Retirement, and term-time is Meaningless.

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The Wet Continues!

After a dry winter we seem to be having the coolest and wet-

test Summer on record which really isn’t doing most of the

crops much good on the allotments. One of the few things that

do seem to be enjoying the weather are my Beetroot which I

have started to pull already. The seed was sown, in trays with

little cells in, so that they could be started early and trans-

planted in plugs with about 3 or 4 young plants in, without dis-

turbing the roots. The damp has made them grow well and

means that I can remove the biggest out of each little clump, leaving the others to

grow on, without them suffering from their roots being disturbed.

The constant wet has made many of the Onion tops turn down even though they

aren’t really mature and some people have got them rotting in the ground. Garlic

doesn’t seem to have faired very well either with “Rust” breaking out in places caus-

ing the need for it to be pulled early to stop it deteriorating further. I don’t know how

big “Elephant Garlic,” is supposed to get, but I am quite impressed with the differ-

ence in size although I have yet to taste it.

The Potatoes on the allotment are causing everybody to panic. A few days ago

one plot holder noticed that the leaves were going black on some of his plants and be-

fore he could decide what to do the whole lot had gone black. Thinking it might be

Potato Blight, he decided to cut off all the tops which is supposed to stop the rot from

going down to the roots. Others on the site examined their crops and many spotted

similar blackening and rotting on the leafy top growth. Such was the general panic

that the Allotment Secretary sent out an E-mail giving advice on how best to deal

with the problem. Most sprays can’t be used on the site as it is supposed to be

“Organic,” but good old fashioned “Bordeaux Mixture,” is one permissible treatment.

I think most people have decided, like I did, to either, cut off the tops, or dig up the

“Earlies” and “Mids,” which shouldn’t be too bad for size, and hope that the “Lates”

are developed enough to use as “New Potatoes.”

As of writing this I haven’t dug up my old fashioned “Pink Fir Apple,” row, but

I have dug up the new Purple variety. (Salad Blue) The skins are very dark and diffi-

cult to distinguish from large stones, but the row gave a worthwhile bucketful after

much careful tilling of the soil. Where the skins were nicked by the fork, the juices

ran a vivid purple, so I couldn’t wait to get the potatoes home and try them. The in-

structions said they are best lightly boiled to preserve the colour after cooking and

they are said to be good, served cold, in salads, to add a little colour to the plate. I can

report that they do look good as they only lose a little of their colour nearest to the

skin, but just they do taste like any other potato.

The Advice given by the Secretary, also included a list of Potato varieties that

are said to be “Blight,” resistant which could be very useful for next year as the prob-

lem could be that the infection could linger on over the Winter in carelessly discarded

vegetation ready to break out again in the following seasons crop. Most people are

though, it seems, being responsible and removing their dead vegetation from the site

altogether. My own thoughts are that I might try a different staple crop altogether in

place of the potatoes next year if the weather stays the same. The allotments are sited

on quite a steep, south sloping slope and if the plots are “Terraced,” they should be

ideal for growing Rice!

Success With Fig Trees

The Winter before last we had die back on the big Fig at home and the following season we had

no figs at all, but there seems to be plenty of young figs developing this year. According to the re-

cord that Mom keeps, we normally pick our first ripe figs in the middle of August, but one or two

are starting to turn already in July. Figs need lots of water while the fruit are growing, so we are

hopeful that it will do well this year after all the rain! It is certainly replacing many of the frost

damaged branches from the other year, so I thought about pruning out the dead and shaping it up a

little. The worst of the dead had been pruned out last year, but I was afraid to cut the branches

back too far until they had had a chance to re-sprout. Experts say that you should normally prune

Apples and Pears in the Winter while the trees are dormant, but some fruit such as Plums, Peaches

and Cherries should be done in mid Summer, to prevent Silver Leaf. So, after cutting back some

of the excessive growth on my Plum tree I decided to attack the big Fig tree as well, expecting the

cut branches to bleed, but found that although the thin, young growth bled profusely, the thicker

branches didn’t. Hopefully, the cuts will heal over before the Winter as it is still growing vigor-

ously. Interestingly, the “Die-back,” seemed to go back to a “Joint” as the branches are almost

segmented like a Bamboo. Figs have a sloppy growing habit with branches appearing anywhere

on the trunk, so some time ago I had piled rough compost around the base to encourage the lowest

branches to root and I had pegged others down into the ground. When I scraped the compost

away, some of the stems had started to root, but being a bit over enthusiastic, whilst trimming the

rest of the tree, I cut the lot off and potted some of the better ones. Then I spread the soil over the

ground to act as a mulch even though you are not supposed to feed figs because it causes the tree

to produce lots of leaf growth and little, or no fruit. However, I needed too raise the surrounding

soil level to fill the gap under the fence where the ground had sunk over the years because it is a

relatively new house with made up garden around it.

After pruning I trimmed 15 cuttings to a couple of feet in length and pushed them deeply into

a patch in my allotment that is in partial shade where the soil is well drained and almost sandy. As

is advisable with many types of cuttings, I cut much of the soft growth off and all the leaves, to

reduce the stress. Years ago, when I first tried rooting Fig cuttings, I got over a 50% success rate

simply by pushing them in a dry spot in the garden and leaving them over winter. It is always a

good idea to give young Figs Winter protection for the first couple of years until their stems

thicken out and normally, I either wrap young exotic fruit trees up in fleece, or take their pots into

the greenhouse. This year, however, I have decided to use my giant cloche to cover the cuttings on

the Allotment. And after the apparent success of plunging the pots of many of my very young fruit

trees, into the ground on my allotment, I have decided I am going to “plunge,” one or two more

Figs from home, along with a couple of small Olive trees, in the extra space in my cloche, over

the coming Winter. It won’t give them as much warmth as a cold greenhouse, but should give

them a more stable temperature and not encourage them into growth too early in the spring.

Plunging the trees into the soil will mean that the 3 foot height of the cloche will not include the

12 inches or more of the large pots that they are in, so I should be able to put plants in that would

otherwise seem to big. A few years ago we would only ever see the “Brown Turkey,” Fig variety

and then we chanced upon “Ice Crystal.” Now we have 8 different varieties at home that are all

supposed to be hardy, although being small they will benefit from the Winter protection of the

cloche. Unlike fruit such as Apples, many Figs have different shaped and sized leaves and are sup-

posed to have different coloured and sized fruits as well, but I have yet to find out as most were

only bought in the last 12 months and they are still too small to fruit. My Fig collection is grow-

ing, I already have a number of rooted cuttings growing on. The trouble is I keep giving them

away, but I still dream of building up the numbers and starting a UK Fig Orchard!

We Despite Politics And Politicians, Yet We All Believe Every Daft Belief They

Give Us Though Blinking Haunted Fishtank We Call Television News And Printed Tomfoolery That Gives Us All Treason Against Our Rightful Retirement Funds

Writes ACW ...

They say save for your retirement, pay into a works pension, and the government will guarantee your rightful pension with them too. How many of us have lost works pensions to private firms gone bust?

How many paid extra contributions to a works pension, only for such as Equitable Life to render such to nothing?

How many pensioners are called well off, when savings give no interest that saves the capital sum from being dribbled away like water in a colander for every month‟s bills and food?

And then the greatest moral theft of all, done by those who guaranteed help: for the compelled deductions for National Insurance that are deferred wages for your old age,

taken from you, to pay for politicians to give themselves a pay rise for exact the same sum as your lost state pension payout.

Yet of all those who have lost, women of the 1950s Baby Boomer generation have lost the most and will lose more, to show how much politicians hate the women of their generation. (1)

For the loss of state pension at 60 to women loses them a maximum of around £6,300 a year, so around £38,000 between 60 and 66.

Most unemployed over 50s women are due to being disabled and /or chronic sick. The TUC had said being disabled and over 55 gives least chance of finding work. The un-

employment rate of over 50s is over 50%, rising to 75% for over 60s even when able bod-ied. Unbeknown to me, when I left work with 30 years NI contribution, would be the rise

to 35 years contribution coming after 2016/2017, when my retirement is half a decade be-yond that. So no rightful payout of state pension for me now at 60 in 2014 (along with 2.5

million other women), nor at any time in the future. So no job, no benefits, no state pen-sion, no partner to share the bills, like so many over 50s. From 2016/17 married women will no longer gain a portion of the value of their hus-

band‟s state pension when they themselves have no NI credits. Those with only 7-10 years of own NI credits will get no state pension at all. This means no state pension if

they become widowed or their husband divorces them. Even those currently receiving disability / long term sick benefits, never mind new

claimants, are losing those benefits altogether, as well as being ruined by Bedroom Tax. Just like Europe inflict on Greece, where people with zero income get taxed again and again, with no tax allowance, so taxed on each and every Euro they have not got.

So applying for Disability Living Allowance took a year, failed. Fell sick following year and long application process for Employment and Support Allowance, failed as two years

no NI means you have no NI credits, even if worked 30 years before. So only days now before 60, too knackered to work, no benefit, small works pension

half below the basic tax allowance (when the boffins say need at least £10,020 to heat and eat and £12,299 in London as a pensioner with extra cost of heating all day) and fac-ing a personal fiscal cliff.

Not alone. For the United Nations is now investigating the whole of Welfare Reform for worsen-

ing health, preventable deaths and suicides in the UK, reporting next March (2) Anecdotal chat has shown up that it is not uncommon for disabled/chronic sick to suffer a heart at-tack through the gruelling 45 minute face to face assessments. Heart failure is a symptom

of extreme stress even without heart troubles at any age. This is the truth of Austerity and Welfare Reform.

And all the hundreds of billions wasted on private contractors in welfare reform, has not paid off the deficit, but added to the debt and squandered funding for investment in

Issue 310

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jobs and business in a recession, so a cause of the death of the high street and big retail failures.

How many of us cheer now a cereal TV ad with Madame Le Guillotine solution to the uncaring rich!

References: (1) The flat rate single-tier pension will be introduced in 2016 but the £144 weekly amount is not-so

-flat for many prospective pensioners, particularly women. http://www.moneywise.co.uk/pensions/managing-your-pension/the-flat-rate-state-pension-what-it-means-you

(2) UN official Raquel Rolnik is looking for your personal stories about the Work Capability Assess-ment (WCA) of Disability Benefits assessment.

Ms Rolnik has already produced a statement on the bedroom tax, recommending that it be sus-pended immediately. http://disabilityrightsuk.org/news/2013/september/un-official-says-suspend-bedroom-tax

She now wants to examine all of the recent welfare changes and welcomed personal stories about the WCA (Work Capability Assessment) and how it is affecting people. This is because concerns

have been raised about the number of WCA (Work Capability Assessment) related deaths due to deteriorating health or suicide.

Once these accounts are collated the evidence will be presented to the United Nations General Council in March 2014. People can email Raquel Rolnik about their experiences with Atos, the WCA (Work Capability As-

sessment) or any other welfare reform issue at srhousing@ohchr.org

Digging up the past: assignment (CMH)

Things heard around The Nevercombe Upwards Ladies All-in Wrestling, Boxing, Cricket, Fencing, Croquet, Morris and Highland Dancing, Competition Knitting and Embroidery Club. [Karioke and Wine appreciation section] Wot woz writ down by Aym Lez Rambylin's

“They'm at it again then!” Shandy remarked as he looked out of the window, “Down at the vicarage they

are.” “Who are? Pipe wanted to know all the details. “Them Archie whatnots! Archie-loggers. They're adiggin' up the old cream bun and mince pie range.

Tryin' to get it nice and flat so's they can shoot them bows an' arrers I reckons.” G&T, who'd been clearing away the coffee cups from last night, chimed in, “They'll have to be careful.

There's few UXP down there from two seasons ago.” “You Hex Pee? What's one of them when it's out then?” Shandy asked, “I mean I never 'eard of one of

they.”

As the intelligentsia representative [failed] G&T explained, “It's an Unexploded Pie, Shandy. You re-member that special formula your wife did? The ones with Nettle Jam and Wasp Honey in them?”

Pipe, having got his second favourite pipe lit, it had his latest try at a herbal mixture in it: Dandelion

leaves, Arrow root, Carrot tops, Purple Sage and second hand tea leaves, he said it was better for the environment; but the neighbours had complained anyway, said, “They didn't all work as I remember it.

Not after that unfortunate incident anyway.” “Incident! What incident? All them of 'em worked, except for them what fell in the river, and even they

sort of worked. Mrs Fish and Chip Shop had that special deal on for weeks afterwards.”

“Well Shandy, I'm sure you and your lady wife meant well, but Pike and Perch Pudding and Chips just doesn't have the right ring to it.”

“Nor Goldfish cake and Chips neither,” put in G&T. “Lacks something.” “I know,” Shandy, a little shame faced, admitted. “Taste! Okay with plenty of brown sauce though.

Anyway, while you pair are digging up the past, like them Archie-holiday folks up at the vicarage, it's my

turn on the urn. It'll be tea all round then.”

Digging up the past assignment Time Team was a very popular Channel 4 series which was broadcast since 1994. Created by Tim Taylor and presented by Tony Robinson, each episode

featured a team scraping away at an archaeological dig over three days, with Robinson explaining the process to the public. The team included professional archaeologists such as the late Professor Mick Aston, Francis Pryor and Phil Harding (he of the hat). Sites excavated over the series' long run ranged in date from the Palaeolithic through to the Second World War. Time Team developed from an earlier Channel 4 series, Time Signs, first broadcast in 1991. Time Team had many spin offs, including Time Team Ex-tra, History Hunters and Time Team Digs. Tragically, it was reported (BBC News) that in September 2007, during the filming of a jousting re-enactment for a special episode a splinter from a balsa wood lance went through the eye-slit in the helmet of one of the par-ticipants. The member of the re-enactment society died a week later in hospi-tal. Channel 4 decided that the programme would be broadcast, but without the joust sequence: the episode, dedicated to the re-enactor, was transmitted in February 2008. Some British archaeologists have recognised the influence of Time Team in showcasing the subject amongst the British public. Equally, some professional archaeologists have argued that it could have presented an inaccurate picture of field archaeology. 2.5 million viewers tuned in at its peak and viewing lev-els steadied at around 1.5 million. In October 2012 Channel 4 announced that the final series would be broadcast in 2013. Series 20 was screened in January–March 2013, however, a number of specials are planned to be screened in 2014. On the internet

fans are trying to drum up support for its return. http://www.radiotimes.com/news/2013-

10-12/tony-robinson-i-see-no-reason-

why-time-team-cant-return http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/

Time_Team

Wikipedia picture source: Guy de

la Bedoyere 2007 Tony Robinson, Mick Aston,

Guy de la Bedoyere Issue 310

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Year 1564 : The Cast : The Queen‟s Men : a group of strolling players thrown out of Lon-don where the theatres have been closed due to an outbreak of plague. Elizabeth I was on the throne. Kit Marlowe (wordsmith/detective), Harry Swann (who stole the chal-ice ), Samuel Burball (Owner), Peter Pecksniff, Daniel Alleynes, young Hal who plays the girl‟s roles very badly, Vesta Swann The Boar‟s Head Tavern, Trentby: Bertha landlady, Molly Golightly, Martha Goodnight wenches The Trentby Abbey of St Jude : Abbot Ranulf knows something about the missing Roman hoard of silver plate/chalice etc The Manor of Bluddschott : sodden Squire Darnley Bluddschott, wife Mistress Anne, daughter Penelope about to be sold off into matrimony, Mistress Hood seamstress The Sheriff‟s Castle : Magistrate Squire Humphrey Pettigrew, Black

Knight, the Sherriff Lord Haywood, man-at-arms Richard of Hyde Leigh, a constable and a scribe Modern Day: Rick Fallon and Tommy Tip-Tip McGee** Private eyes in Trentby on case for Sir Kipling Aloysius Bluddschott, sister aged vamp-Christabel, to locate silver chalice and Roman hoard of Trentby Abbey + corpse Jago Swann, DI Pete Ferret To give the tale a twist we want to attempt to take what seems like an historical fiction novel and write it as if it‟s a hard-boiled 1930‟s pulp fiction romp. It might not work but we‟ll give at a go and see what happens... ** Characters from Where There‟s A Will There‟s A Weigh RBW fiction project

Elizabethan period shoes:

Boots - Boots were made of smooth or wrinkled leather, fittings were loose or tight, used for riding and walking

Gamache - A gamache was a high boot Buskins - Buskins were calf length shoes / boots

Startups - Startups were leather shoes worn as protective coverings for outdoor use

Pumps - Pumps were light, or single-soled slip-on shoes

Chopines - Chopines, or Chapineys, were slip-on over shoes made of wood and covered with leather

Clogs - The clog was an outdoor, wooden shoe

Corked Shoes - Corked shoes featured a wedge of cork between the foot and the sole

Galoche - A Galoche, or Galage, was a protective overshoe

Pantofle - A Pantofle came in two styles - a protective, outdoor overshoe and a slipper for indoors

Pinsons - A pinson or pincnet was a delicate shoe

Edward VI, son of Henry VIII

And Jane Seymour (12 October 1537 – 6 July 1553)

this portrait possibly by by a

William Scrots 1550

Mary I (18 February 1516 – 17

November 1558) daughter of Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon was Queen of England

and Ireland from July 1553 until her death. Her brutal persecu-

tion of Protestants caused her nickname "Bloody Mary".

Several days before the body found ACW Harry Swan slowly came awake to darkness he thought of night to the mother of all

pounding sick headaches. „Damnation, to my immoderate gluttony of gut rot grog,‟ he sighed. Held his head and slumped back upon cold stone of his grave‟s shelf. Through

bloodshot eyes he looked about the tomb‟s mausoleum and espied the wrought iron gates and remembered himself his late night descent to seek night‟s shelter, hidden away from man.

The cold light of pre-dawn gave him sight of effigies of knights of old and sainted priests. Fear rose in his throat and fell upon his chest in leaden weight, crushing the breath out his lungs, as words rose and choked back, „May the Lord Forgive Me!‟

With a shock his vision flashed back upon him of his assailant and the mortal com-bat between them. „I Confess My bloodied wrath, my greed but the Devil Sorely Tempted this Poor Sinner. Thieving from Church and Grace. No More could I fall from grace.‟

Harry clutched the packhorse leather panniers to his chest, and brought out with shaking hands, a cup, a great gold goblet, a Chalice, and saw etched on brim ancient

Latin test protecting the righteous by prayer, “Lord, May All Enemies Flee and Hate Not Defeat the Meek”.

His eyes widened painfully as his whole body sang in nerve-tingling terror. „Oh My Lord, Have pity on my immortal soul. Be this the Holy Grail?‟

His eyes saw about him in uncommon clarity, the high ceiling of the church‟s vaults as dawn‟s light shone through stained glass to give a vision of hell on wall and floor to the unworthy. „Heaven forfend me!‟

Gulped hard and again saw in his mind‟s eye, his hands throttling the life out of he who sought to deprive him of his ill-gotten treasures, found so fortuitous beneath the effigy of a once king of Saxon England, bethinking him confused in drink, yet unknow-ing of his soldier‟s iron gut.

As his would-be purse-cutter‟s life‟s death rattle breathed out, his mind be thought

of what now to hide his evil deed and yet give no hue and cry upon him seeking the Queen‟s justice. Then he‟d espied the axe, but no, he shut away his dread deed from memory‟s vision. What penance could forfend my soul from eternal damnation?

The forest had had no bird song but only eerie silence in the gathering twilight, while the dread deed had been a moment‟s work.

And then, a thought. What now? Then inspiration struck. Put his player‟s costume upon this luckless lad and run off

with plunder, away from miserable life and wife. A noise had alerted every poised sinew to run, of oxen heavy tread‟s approach and

he dared not breathe in his wild brush hideaway, as he saw pass him the bear baiter‟s hellhounds in innocent sleep on baiter‟s oxcart, being led away by a furtive becloaked figure that by gait and shape he knew was not his old drinking friend, the baiter.

This gave a blinding light of solution. No dogs to rouse the old goat bear-baiter. Quickly he‟d gathered up stones to tie down a part of cut-purse and rolled him into the river‟s deep swift current.

Keeping to forest shadow, be certain passing of late night thiever of so-prized plunder as fighting mastiffs, he‟d carried his dread load to the bear pit, casting corpse down close to slumbering bear. A bench axed through and a quick flame arrow loaded

with flash-bang, loosed to break the bear‟s shackles. Yet his old sot drinking partner ne‟er gave heed from his snoring rest. So he‟d shoved and heaved on supports to un-dermine the front benches, leaving them for the inevitable crash, running to save his own skin. back to the safety of wild forest‟s trackless wastes.

Then he remembered death screams of man that had brought him up sharp. Had the loosed bear eaten his handler? Up a tree he leapt to see more.

He saw his victim‟s head and torso wrought satisfyingly anonymous by bear‟s hun-ger and whim.

Yet from whom had the screams come as he‟d seen no-one thereabouts? Then he saw a part of a leg in the bear‟s jaws! It could not be the cut-purse for no such limb had not met a watery grave. This

will never do, thought he. And drew back close upwind of the bear fully focused upon his midnight repast, to

find another top half of a body he saw of different build to his cut-purse and blow me if this luckless fool was not also wearing the same player‟s costume as he‟d been cast.

Off yet another load through moonless deep forest ways to weigh down and slip into deep river from rocks all overhung by weeping willow. Methinks I‟ve missed my calling as undertaker‟s porter!

What does this plot twist mean? a) the bear is innocent, b) Harry Swann is still alive

but he is a murderer and a thief on the run, and Harry has discovered the hidden chalice ... This plot line is under group discussion and will change as the majority of writers definitely do not want the complication of two bodies.

Trentby REWORKED PIECE CMH Pete Ferret was loving it! He'd longed for, he'd dreamed and salivated over, a day

like this. A day when all the chickens … then he stopped gloating and listened to what was actually being said, and didn't like it one little bit.

„It's like this,‟ Rick Fallon began. „Obviously I can't tell you who my client is, can I? But I think I know how it started.‟

„Go on then how did it start? And no fairy stories neither, 'cos we all know that put-ting Jago Swann in the mortuary spoiled the happy ending.‟

Fallon sat back in his comfortable new chair and made a statement to the old bill. Ferret activated the Dictaphone and Fallon began.

„Tip-Tip and me were in the office when Mr. Mbekod, the solicitor, dropped in and asked us to take a case.‟

Ferret nodded that he knew the solicitor. „I said to him, Van, is this client of yours off his rocker? I know we're pretty good at

investigating things going back a bit, but this is going back a bit far. I mean an ancient murder and a treasure hunt!‟

Evangeline Mbekod sat back on the clients‟ couch and smiled. „Just between our-selves, I agree with you Rick. A few years is okay but four hundred, or eighteen hun-dred odd years, depending on how you look at it, is a bit much.‟

„What would Mr. Goldstein have said, Van?‟ Rick asked him. Mbekod laughed aloud. „Oh, I've no doubt about that! He would have agreed and

then said, 'Write the letter and take the fee'.‟ Tip-Tip, never a man to mince words, muttered, „Oh aye. For once I agree wi' th' old fel-

lah. Tek't money and laugh a' the wa' t'th bank.‟ For once, his diction was understandable, Lavender Pomeroy, his other half, was working hard on his social skills.

„It'll be difficult. We'd need three months to do a proper job,‟ Rick said into the silence.

„Then there'll be travelling and other expenses. The mists of time may be a cliché but they're very thick, and it might be impossible. Can your client afford it?‟

The solicitor nodded as he thought about it. „Let me see. One week absolute maximum; three thousand five hundred pounds and not a penny more! That's my final offer.‟

Tip-Tip nodded. „Arl need t' consult wi' m' partner y'unerstan' Mr. Mbekod, but I'd say tha‟ may b‟ temptin'.‟

A slight smile crept over the solicitor‟s face. That meant that he could go back to his cli-ent and tell him, 'The best men in the area are on the job, expect an outline in a week or ten days,' and that he‟d be within budget.

A quick nod showed agreement, but as the senior partner, Rick had the final word. „If we do find this buried treasure it belongs to us, Mr. Mbekod. After the Coroner's inquest of course.‟ The fact that he didn't say Van showed that he was speaking as The Boss.

There were handshakes all round as the Welsh solicitor with roots in Jamestown Ja-maica stood up to leave. „A week from today then, and the very best of luck.‟

During a quick coffee break, Rick marshalled his thoughts. „We don't have much time and this one's going to be tricky. 1500 and whatsit‟s a long time ago. Anyway, here's the way I see it.‟

„Pity old Professor Linksie passed awa'. He'd 'a been th' man for th' history.‟ Tip-Tip re-marked.

„Tip-Tip. This is a long shot, but you never know, go and talk to your missus. Get her to contact her friends in the artistic world and see if they can come up with any old stories.‟

„And what‟ll you be doing?‟ „I'll nip over to the Cathedral, chat up the archivist, and see if they've got any handle on

the time of Elizabeth the first. Then, I'm going across to see Miss Abernathy, my favourite

librarian.‟ „An' get receipts f' everythin',‟ Tip-Tip muttered the firm‟s mantra as they went their

separate ways. Later that morning Rick tracked the Archivist to her lair and found that the only existing

rolls for the 16th century, both of them, had been sealed in the vaults for another year. The Archivist was all tea and sympathy and suggested that he brush up on his church latin.

Miss Abernathy, she of the floppy jumpers and blue rinsed hair, was helpful but he didn't have time to play her game when she told him. „You need to go to the County Record Of-fice at Brown Friars. You can use their search service for a small hourly fee.‟

„And that‟s it, Ferret. Now you know as much as I do,‟ Fallon said. By this time, Ferret had chewed his nails down to the quick. „That's more than enough

Fallon. I'll get it typed up for you to sign.‟

As Ferret left Fallon smiled and, momentarily, pitied the poor PC who would have to type up that rambling statement.

The Queen‟s Men at Bluddschott Hall 'Do move thyself Master Burball! The entertainment is overdue and His Lordship doth

not enjoy being kept waiting. Certes not by mere players.' The steward was using an ancient dialect but that didn't mean he was wrong. 'We are

ready now Master Steward; by my halidom we have been awaiting thy convenience for some little time. As soon as the hall hath been cleared of tables we shall start.'

'Cleared Master Burball! Why should it be cleared? Other companies of players hath per-formed with it as it is now. Why only last year …'

Burball interrupted him, 'And how many players tripped o'er dogs or slipped on greasy aughts and fell injuring themselves pray? This play has sword fights and such in it and I would wager that His Lordship would not wish to endanger himself or his household by accident. A foot slipping on a bone and a sword, e'en the blunted hangers we use, flying from a hand would cause injury. Nay, Master Steward. I have told thee this afore, a cleared space is wanted, one of ten good paces each way!'

Fuming the Steward went off to organise a clearing amongst the rowdy, disorganised tables and to try to get the dogs, and their bones, out of Bluddschott Hall.

Later that evening: 'I'm glad that that's over Master Burball! I wouldn't wish to play here again, although I

can think of some troupes I would wish it on.' Daniel Alleynes‟ tone was scathing. 'Bartley‟s Men amongst others you mean? Naming no names, of course.' 'It could be that your shaft has hit the very centre of the gold there Master Burball. Now

to collect our fee from that, mouldering, dodderer of a steward. Unless I miscall it badly it won't take the twain to carry it away either. Did you see what they'd had to eat? In addi-tion, as for that inferior swill they gave us to drink! It could've been used as an instrument of torture. Two swallows and you'd confess to anything!'

Burball laughed at the disgust shown on his companions face and that in his voice, 'Good for the congestion of the bowels, think you?'

'An idea worth considering Master Burball, a veritable idea. The apothecaries could sell

it for that very purpose and make a fortune. They'd have to be careful not to spill any as it'd eat away the wooden top of a counter.'

'Mayhap anything that wasn't glass or stone to boot!' They both laughed at the idea as they went across to the pantry to find steward in a quandary.

'His Lordship is pleased with neither the play nor the players!' The steward told them. 'He hath instructed me to hand you one half of the agreed fee and to ensure that you are whipped from the hall.'

'We would assure you that that is not at all a good idea Master Steward. We would take it amiss and do our utmost to ensure that never again did a company of player grace this hall with their presence. A 'plaint to our patron, Her Majesty, would ensure that.'

The steward, privately agreeing, also knew that the Bluddschott dynasty was stony broke again. There had been that visit by that stuck-up Clerk of the Exchequer who wasn't

best pleased by the mess that the Manor Accounts Rolls where in and had imposed a fine on the family. This meant that second or even third-rate provender would have been an improvement over the fare provided for the last few months.

Then Sir Darnley Bluddschott's (it never harmed to flatter him, and even with the inher-ited title he'd never been tapped on the shoulder with a sword, so he was still a Squire) latest, sure fire, absolutely and utterly guaranteed never to fail, method for extorting tax

This is the charisma-

Something of washed, worn linen And impeccable mending

That nevertheless holds An odour, a rankness like

Sweat, civet or musk. The feet and hands could

Have holes, the blank, Bland flesh showing a

Willingness to demonstrate Where holes could go If necessary. The agony

Is already there.

The mouth, feeding greedy On ambrosial libations

Professes an acceptance, A preference even For hard tack, eschewing

Even manna. The scape Goat in the wilderness, an

Attractive role, thorns For succour, until thorns

Become an inward Accompaniment to life, An outward characteristic.

And oh, the superiority

Of such a stance, the preening, The self-satisfaction of Having good intentions,

Of seeing the rainbow as a Sign from heaven, light

Stretched on the sky as An exclusive omen!

How strange to see This expectation of preference Begins, unconsciously,

Excluding love.

money from the Guilds in the City of Trentby had failed; and the Lawyers, who turned up with a Warrant, had to be paid.

On top of all this Lady Anne was playing the gracious lady and trying to get that poppet Mistress Penelope, the only one of them worth more than the half farthing you'd get if rendered down for candle fat, married - sold off really - to anybody who looked to be rich!

-o0o-

We spoilt our last time together.

Perhaps it was necessary; You asking me questions about my lover

And I listening to you talk of yours‟, Telling me things I didn‟t want to know

As if I was avid to hear it all. Tumescence was a long process. Neither of us were really present.

Only the flesh‟s obsolescence Kept us there, the sultry air

Making us sweat in the small bed. In truth, we had already said goodbye, Yet seemed to need to reassure our-

selves Rather than each other, that there

Was something else, something deeper And more real to return to,

Knowing we‟d never meet again And being brave about it. How I regret it now!

Why could we not have been Silent together, knowing the slow

Welling of feeling we had before, I finding your very lack of haste

Miraculous, and incredible, Incredible, the rightness of it?

Fire Eater One sad afternoon

in between memory and creation, when the sunshine gives in to the burden

of the approaching autumn my pinball mind, it focused in,

and wondered where in the world you could be now.

Are you shopping for bread and fresh vegetables?

Or are you pushing a baby around the park? Making-up, a party to go,

perhaps trying on that new red dress, I bet the mirrors still love you.

Or are you looking at someone I‟ve never met?

Kissing his eyelashes, giving yourself totally. I know now, how that works.

Are you safe from harm? Tending sunflowers on weekends.

And do you think of me? Ever?

Just once would be good. Just once, with that beautiful smile.

Like you used to do, and wish all the things for me

that I wish for you.

Terrace

slate zipper snakes sidewinder scars the green, green valley

the open sores

bleed from the mountains to the sea

brochures of memories spin-dry thin

escape the heavy rain

while rust just lingers through nameless days

the friendly liquid bracken slices

screams bricked up the silent neighbour

Lies they say time

is a healer

when actually it‟s time

that kills us

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dave-Lewis/e/B004W67KOW/

ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0 Roadkill - a contemporary poetry collection

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„Dave Lewis‟ new work opens with Henry Thoreau‟s famous quote, “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation”. Very apt in our Twitter, X-Box-Factor age when apathy, indifference,

and resignation is the norm and the – increasingly – lost genera-tion slumber party away their lives wearing Onesies. This book of “The Voice”, is for real and poetry is back where it belongs, right there at the

heart of the matter.‟ John Evans „A remarkable collection from Dave Lewis's heart and soul. From the stark

'Roadkill' to 'Run Towards the Fire' his honesty doesn't flinch. Achingly good.‟ Sally Spedding

„At times witty, at times gritty, Dave Lewis has produced a fascinating col-lection on human connection. The humour is dark, the love is bright, the poetry is touching, taunting, spewing, galling, tender. Modern life is out there and engulfing but the passion for

truth still lives. Roadkill overflows with personality, it‟s a roller-coaster ride, and to use the words of the poet “I‟m smiling like Tenby”.‟ Eloise Williams

Issue 310

Page 20

My lost Poet for this week is ADELAIDE CRAPSEY (1878 – 1914) I have always been interested in pushing all forms of poetry

into new directions and my experimentations have seen some success as well as a lot of failures, but as the scien-tists amongst you will know, it is what you learn from the

failure of the experiment that gives you the knowledge to pursue your success. Adelaide Crapsey was also not bound by the conven-

tions of poetic form and went ahead in her short life to de-velop two distinct forms that have kept the interest in her

work alive. She is though still only known amongst some of the academic circles. Adelaide was born in Brooklyn, New York in 1878 to

the Episcopal priest Algernon Sidney Crapsey and his wife Adelaide T Crapsey, Her father, himself not adverse to con-troversy following charges of heresy that saw him stripped

of his Ministry. Adelaide grew up in Rochester, New York attending public School in Rochester and later Kemper Hall a Episcopal

preparatory school for girls in Wisconsin. She then entered Vassar College from which she graduated in 1901. Her career as a teacher was delayed following the death of

her sister Emily, but in 1902 she took up a post at Kemper Hall which she held until 1904, when she moved to spend a year at School of Classical Studies at the American Academy in Rome and then taught for two years at Smith College in Massachusetts.

She herself was in poor health and in 1911 was diagnosed with tuberculosis, which she kept from her family and continued with her teaching, until she collapsed in 1913. Her final year was spent at a private

cure cottage in Saranac Lake, she returned to Rochester in August 1914, finally succumbing to her illness in October. In the years prior to her death she wrote much of the poetry for which she is best remembered, Her collection Verses was published by Claude Bragdon in 1915 with later revised editions published up until

1934. Her Poetry. She created a variation of the 5 five line, 22 syllable form known as the Cinquian, influenced

from Japanese forms such as Haiku and Tanka. Her version of the Cinquian uses Iambic metre and 2 sylla-bles in the first and last lines with the middle three lines having 4, 6 and 8 syllables, see her poem Triad below.

She also developed an epigram in the form of an iambic rhyming couplet held with in the title which is an integral part of the poem, as shown in the example below On Seeing Weather-beaten Trees. She was further remembered by the poet Carl Sandburg in his poem Adelaide Crapsey which was to keep

the interest in her cinquain forms from become obscure and forgotten. An example of THE AMERICAN CINQUIAN developed by Adelaide Crapsey in her poem Triad.

Triad THESE be

Three silent things: The falling snow … the hour

Before the dawn … the mouth of one Just dead.

An example of Adelaide Crapsey’s Epigram Form. On Seeing Weather-beaten Trees

IS it as plainly in our living shown, By slant and twist, which way the wind hath blown? Some further links. Adeliade Crapsey’s verses on the web: http://quod.lib.umich.edu/cgi/t/text/text-idx?

type=simple&c=amverse&cc=amverse&sid=ba916e3235ca30151c821ab8aab270be&q1=adelaide%20crapsey&rgn=div1&view=toc&idno=bae8954.0001.001 Karen Alkalay-Gut’s biography of Adelaide Crapsey. http://www.ugapress.org/index.php/books/alone_in_dawn/

American poet ADELAIDE CRAPSEY (1878 – 1914)

Biography : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adelaide_Crapsey

She is buried in Mount Hope Cemetery in Rochester, and her papers are

at the University of Rochester Library archives

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