Issue 368 2nd January 2015

Rising Brook/Holmcroft/

Baswich/Gnosall

Libraries are under threat.

2

Random words : Start again next week

Assignment : Resolutions (anti v for)

Here‘s an easy resolution COME to WORKSHOP ...

Every Monday 1.30 start Rising Brook Library

© @NHSour

www.issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

THE MAGIC MIRROR THE STORY CONTINUES

The Contest (Clive Hewitt)

―You're what! Princesses? Don't make me laugh girls, it 'urts when I falls off me wallet. Princesses indeed.‖ The fat, bald, strangely dressed man behind the desk chuckled.

―Don't get me wrong, it ain't that you're bad looking; in fact I'd say your well into the running. And that's

without seeing you in a one piece costume, but Princesses don't go in for Miss Beauty of the World Contests.‖ Rose stood up and put on the very best 'Her Royal Highness' face. ―We,‖ she stressed the 'we' bit to show that it was the Royal WE, not any old common or garden 'we' that

happened to be passing, ―are not amused by your attitude you odious, common, little man. WE shall be laying information concerning it before our Minister of Information and Safety forthwith, you may expect a visit by sev-

eral of his Minions who will, I have no doubt, remonstrate most forcefully. They may give you a chance to change your attitude before they throw you into the dungeons.

―Come Your Royal Highness we shall depart and leave this … low person … to his well deserved fate.‖ So say-

ing she swept from the office. Ellen, who was taken by surprise - the outburst wasn't on their list of 'What To Do If Things Go Wrong Plans'

- scrambled upright and started towards the door, saying, ―Don't worry too much, she hardly ever tortures peo-ple who upset her, and she always says sorry and sends flowers to the funerals. I'll talk to her when she calms down.‖

She sighed, theatrically, ―Best just say yes to anything she wants for the next few weeks, give her time to get over it. Bye!‖ she remarked over her shoulder as she went.

The stunned silence in the office was broken when the woman from next office put her head around the door, ―You lucky dog, Grindle. The Princesses, both of 'em too, on your books this early in the contest. Even if they don't get past round three you'll clean up with those pair. You're made, my friend, you'll see. Next year the girls

will be queueing up demanding to be on your list.‖ Looking up in AMAZEMENT Grindle said, ―You mean they really are Rose Red and Snow White?! I just thought

they where a couple of good looking kids.‖ Grabbing a couple of standard forms from his desk he rushed out

brandishing them. The woman realised what that meant, grabbed a few more and shot out of the door after him.

Outside Rose stopped, giggled into her hands and asked her sister, ―How well did I do Elllen? Will he take the bait do you think?‖

Ellen, teetering on her high heels, it was the first time she'd worn them, in anger as it where, and wasn't at all

happy about her footing, nodded. ―The Ministry Minions calling on him to remonstrate bit did it I think. If we walk along slowly it'll give him more of a chance to find us.‖

Then she looked around. ―Quick, pretend you're still mad at him, Rose. He's tearing along waving papers at us and there's a woman overtaking him doing the same. We can play them off against each other.‖

By this time they'd reached their coach and pair, ―William,‖ Rose hissed at the guard-footman-driver who was

with them. ―Give this pair a hard time until we're in the coach and ready to talk to them. Make them stand on the footpath out of earshot of the coach.‖ William, who was fed up with guarding the coach, which also meant clearing up the deposits left by the

horses, nodded, grinned and pulled out his very favourite body-guarding pistol. This was a large, black, extremely nasty looking, bell-mouth, blunderbuss, but, as the King had 'recycled' (sold

off) the gunpowder as a cost cutting exercise, it wasn't loaded. However, William was sure that giving somebody a good whack with it would be 'A Good Thing' in the body guarding line, and he was looking forward to trying it out in a few seconds.

Then he shouted, “STAND AND DELIVER!” at the top of his voice and brandished it in the faces of the ap-proaching pair.

Screeching to a wobbly halt both of them waved their forms and shouted, ―I want to be your agent! Sign up with me, I'll give a better deal than anyone else.‖ Rose stuck her head out of the carriage window and asked. ―Stand and Deliver, William! Where does that

come from?‖ Lowering his voice William explained, ―It's a very sad story, Princess. I always wanted to be a highwayman,

but me Mum wouldn't let me. She told me about my Great Uncle Arther who used to catch some horrid colds waiting his turn in the queue to rob coaches. Mum thought I'd do much better as an honest burglar, like me Dad. More money in it, and safer, she said.‖

He sighed and shook his head in sorrow. ―It's just that I haven't got the head for heights; so I became a Pal-ace Official instead. Mum says that it's nearly the same thing. Actually I'm a Black Belt Chef with a Second Class Degree in Stamp Collecting and Train Spotting.‖

―Stamp collecting and train spotting, William?‖ Rose had her eyebrows so far raised that they were somewhere

down at the back of her neck.

―Yes... well... somebody's got to invent stamps; and trains, first of course; but when they do I'm here ready and waiting!‖

Ellen, or Snow White as she was popularly known, deciding that William had led a very sheltered existence, cleared her throat and said, ―William, on your very next day off nip over to Grostopia and have a look in the Market Square there. When you get back you can be our 'Very Own Royal Stamp Collecting and Train Spotting

Expert'. Take a diplomatic passport with you to make sure that they don't rope you in to wind up the engine.‖ ―You mean they have them there?‖ William was excitedly waving his pistol about. ―Can I ask the King if we can have them here as well?‖

The girls nodded. They didn't want to spoil William's day but didn't think that there was much danger of it happening.

Rose waved towards the waiting pair. ―Right then. Send the woman across first please, William. When she leaves wait a couple of minutes and then we'll see the smelly, odious, man.‖

http://us4.campaign-archive2.com/?u=309bdda99c8364a6971f4db82&id=c144594e49&e=cdcb43676e

Debut Dagger Bulletin No 3

A Year Gone By... Forward Poetry Newsletter extract ...

As 2015 approaches, we’re inviting you to write a poem on the subject of the past year. What are your memorable moments from the

past twelve months? You can share something personal or perhaps a news story struck a chord with you, compose a poem and let us

know how 2014 turned out for you. Read More

Poetry Rivals Finalists Announced! We are very excited to announce our top 100 Poetry Rivals finalists. It has been a

very hard but rewarding task for our Editorial team and Mark Grist, but they have managed to choose our fantastic finalists! Each finalist

has won five books, which features all the finalists’ poems in. They will also be invited to the live slam final in 2015. (Slam details will

be announced next year.). Well done to each finalist and thank you to everyone who took part in this year’s competition! The full list of

finalists can be found at www.poetryrivals.com

Forward Poetry Social Top Five : Throughout November we had amazing poems being added to FP Social, which made it

very hard to pick our Top Five and Poet of the Month... Congratulations to:

Taking Back My Dreams by Lolly

It Waits by Helenmatherrogers

The Poppies by Drongan

Orphan by Stevieg

Breath of Fresh Air by TonyC

Join FP Social

Featured Event – Apples and Snakes presents Hit The Ode One poet from the West Midlands, one from elsewhere in the UK,

and one from another country. This is Hit the Ode: a unique performance poetry night bringing world-class spoken word artists to the heart of

Birmingham.

January will feature the brilliant Dominic Berry, Rosie Garland and Alexandre Sa all the way from Portugal!

When: Thursday 15 January, 7.30pm

Where: The Victoria, 48 John Bright Street, Birmingham B1 1BN Tickets: £5, on the door

Tell Us About Your Literary Event! We include a poetry or creative writing event each issue as well as feature a poetry

book. If you'd like your event or book to be featured, please email newsletters@forwardpoetry.co.uk and include details of your event or

book. It's a great way to share news and raise poets' profiles with a friendly audience. Feel free to pass this information on to a friend or

relative who may find this of interest!

6

Things heard around The Nevercombe Upwards Ladies All-in Wrestling, Boxing, Cricket, Fencing, Croquet, Morris and Highland Dancing, Competition Knitting and Embroidery Club.

[Bomb Disposal and Wine appreciation section] Wot woz writ down by Aym Lez Rambylin's ‗There's nothing like a good mince pie, one with plenty of filling and a

good crust, you know.‘ G&T remarked to his companions as he looked at the plate.

‗It's bit unfortunate that these are flat as pancakes, with a crust like con-crete, then,‘ Pipe replied, tapping the top of one.

‗Dun‘t be daft, Pipe. Those ARE concrete!‘ Shandy told him. ‗Missus Vic-ars new secret weapon they are. Gettin' ready for the next Custard Pie flingin' season her is. It's all accordin' to the rules, except for the cement. No gravel in the recipe o' course but plenty o' wasp honey an' gnats milk.‘

‗Hmm, I did wonder at the stainless steel patter.‘ Pipe said, refilling his smudge pot with ‗alternative‘ tobacco. ‗It‘s not often you get them on rein-forced wheels.‘

‗Guaranteed to be none-explosive too!‘ Shandy told them. ‗It's real sad her giving up on that. X-types missus reckons she lost her nerve when that 8 inch sponge exploded in her oven.

Completely spoiled her Tulip and Ferret casserole it did. Didn't do much for her Squid, Snail and Emu custard I believe.‘

G&T; a back seat driver where fine food was concerned, remarked, ‗Didn't do the Ostrich dumplings much good either, and after all the trouble she'd had in getting the feathers off them as well.‘

‗They never did catch 'em all when they got loose by the Mill Pond.‘ Shandy nodded Thyme-ly - it would have been Sagely but they'd used it all

last week. ‗Tailor the Miller says they'll breed next summer.‘ ‗What does Miller the other Tailor say, Shandy?‘ Pipe asked. ‗He's

the wild life expert.‘ ‗Oh, he says that once the crust's dried and dropped off they'll

head home. Homing Ostriches is like that.‘ ‗Right chaps!‘ Pipe said as he put on his steel helmet. ‗As judges

it's our duty to check the contents of this year‘s festive offerings. Shandy! You check the car park's clear. We don't want a repeat of

last year! Mrs Pipe says she's got E-types other sister ready to hose unex-ploded mincemeat off camera crews. She enjoys the wet T-shirt bit, spe-cially her own.

G&T, you get the range cleared of spectators. I'll wrestle the safety

chains back on the pies and light the bonfire. It's Mince Pie Monday so let‘s see what Mince Pies are made of.‘

„The Sumcaester Coach, Rail, United Ferry & Yacht Com-pany‟ NEWS BRIEF (No. 3) (CMH)

As our avid and faithful followers will realise the front office has, yet again, departed

from the usual 'Never say a word to the press' policy, by revealing to the crowded press conference attended by your reporter, that the S.C.R.U.F. & Y is acquiring a new passenger coach.

New Advanced Passenger Coach This expansion of its rolling stock fleet, together with the new goods wagon

already in use, will, we are assured, enable the delivery of a vastly improved service, in the face of stiff competition from the market porters and shop delivery boys.

This new, EIGHT SEATER, coach has been sourced, after much bargaining and at an exorbitant cost, from a firm in 'The Principality' dealing only in 'New Build'. It is expected that delivery will take place in the 'New Year', although, when pressed, the Chairman declined to state which New Year. He issued the following statement.

Chairman‟s Statement. We at SCRUF&Y are delighted that we will be able to offer our Summer Visitors

a greatly improved service. Our NEW coach should enable us to keep up with demand from the numbers

of visitor flooding into the town each summer for a few years. The Town Clerk has re-ported that the numbers are increasing year-by-year and that Eleven or Twelve more people (a three hundred percent increase) are expected this year.

SCRUF&Y will retain the four times daily listed services, and will also offer a 'Phone-a-Tram' service.

Any phone call to Sumcaester Central 44 between 8 and 6 asking for a tram will be answered promptly, except at Lunch Times, Tea Breaks, when Gladys is out

shopping, having her hair done or mending the tram, and during power cuts when the phone doesn't work, when a delay may be experienced. If a tram service is available in the area, the customer will be booked onto it.

We at SCRUF&Y regret that we are currently unable to publish pictures of the new coach. Clients are advised to keep an eye on the local press for further details.

Other News The training of the new guard dog has hit a bump in the road. It seems that the

idea of idea of him, or her (we‘re not too sure about that); actually performing as ad-vertised cannot be trained into an animal. The Management has therefore and with some reluctance, reverted to the earlier philosophy of the dog licking people to death, barking and snarling whilst doing so.

Admittedly this tends to confuse the unwary - and the dog – but seems to be satis-

factory in deterring the lower class of criminal.

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Gardening Tips Week Ending 12 January 2014.

Hello Folks

Well it’s another new year and a fresh start again. I hope it will be a happy and

prosperous one for you. Thinking back to some of those Christmas gifts though, if

you had Streptocarpus plants given to you, the ones sold nowadays are improved

on the old ones as they have smaller leaves which don’t take up so much room on

a table or desk etc, but they still need the same care. You must not get water on the

leaves and must water them from the bottom in a saucer and they want light, but

not direct sunlight.

The Garden Centres seem to be clearing out their Christmas displays early and

quickly this year and they are getting ready for the Spring sales of seeds and Sum-

mer flowering bulbs. Talking of the Spring, I don’t know whether they think we

are going to have an early Spring, with all this preparation, but in any case it is as

well to check your stock of seeds to see if you have got all that you need. The first

plantings that you will make will be Onion Sets and First Early Potatoes and if you

put Garlic in before Christmas it should be growing well by now. If you missed

setting some get it in quickly and it should be all right. Why not try growing a few

herbs either from seed or from young plants. Most are available as seed these days

and although they will take a bit longer to establish, they will work out much

cheaper than buying young plants that are already growing. They not only smell

nice in the garden as you brush past them, but are easy to grow and are better for

you in your cooking than salt that is bad for blood pressure. We like Oregano in

mixed vegetables, Mint in Potatoes, Rosemary with Lamb, things like Basil and

Bay Leaves in a Bouquet Garnet for stews or the like, of course Parsley with fish

and Garlic goes well with Pasta or Mince. One or two of the common herbs will

require a sheltered spot like the Bay Trees because they can get damaged badly by

sever frosts and Oregano really needs to be grown in the greenhouse over winter.

If you want to be able to cut fresh Parsley through the Winter you might like to

take some inside the greenhouse and keep it in a pot. Of course alternatively, you

could harvest your herbs in the Summer months and carefully dry them so that

they will keep for use in the following Winter months.

We grew a couple of different types of beans this Summer that we de-podded and

dried. One was a large Bean that looked about the same size as a Broad Bean and

one was smaller and classed as a Kidney Bean. This one actually had vivid black

and white colour bands across the bean making them look very pretty when they

had been cleaned and dried. They might not be fresh vegetables now, but drying

them does mean that we can still have meals using our own vegetables from the

allotment that were harvested back in the Autumn instead of buying so vegetables

many from the shops. The beans took a bit of drying, spread out on trays in the

warmth of the living room, but seem to keep all right in old drinking chocolate

tubs, the ones with the screw up lids. When we want to use some of the beans we

soak them overnight in a little bowl water and then put them in stews to add a bit

of body and home grown goodness!

Well that’s all for now.

Cheerio Frances Hartley.

NEW YEAR So. The pinnacle of Christmas is behind us and now we are gazing down upon the

bright land of possibilities. What to do? A walk a day for a start. Twenty minutes of this writing and I‘ll set off in my new wellies adorned with red helicopters on a green ground. I bought them from the Air Ambulance charity shop in Wales where my son lives. Folk there are so dependent on this service as villages are scattered and hospitals are few. It is a disgrace that it is en-tirely voluntary. Like many people I owe my son‘s life to the Air Ambulance, which is a special reason to enjoy wearing my wellies. Long may it snow. I will improve my chess. I seem to have stood still at novice 1 for the last two months of frantic practising. If anyone can spare an occasional hour for a real live game or a bit of advice I‘d be really grateful. I will tame the garden. We have tussled for years, my garden and I, mainly, I think, because I expect too much of it and therefore of myself. I will buy more shrubs,

shun annuals that look like nothing until they suddenly look like the whole garden and smother everything within a ten yard radius. And that should keep me busy. I will not aim too high for that only results in fail-ure and a lowering of self-esteem. I will not travel the world or become photographer of the year. I will not even promise to write for an hour each day. That has always been a perennial resolution for, as my friend Jane said, ‗We can‘t afford to sit about at our time of life.‘ But it‘s also a perennial failure. Life is precious, and becomes more precious with each passing minute and I realise there are lots of other things we can‘t afford to use time up on either. Like moaning. Constructive criticism is a different thing, of course. I don‘t intend to give that up. Neither will I vow to get to the theatre more. To be honest I sat through some pretty putrid stuff last year. Well slept through it actually. Practically as expensive as a room at The Ritz in some cases. I can say I will not patronise any theatre where the seats are too comfortable. Not at my time of life. And I will read reviews more care-fully. Anything marked uproarious means slapstick and therefore tedious beyond de-spair. Anything marked space specific means embarrassing, as does anything marked experimental and means better to go to the pub. I will not have another go at five a day. Nobody I know manages five a day unless they count crisps. A bit of fruit at breakfast, another bit with lunch, carrots and peas with dinner, and you‘re still only up to four. I know lots of things hope to be sold as ‗counting towards your five a day‘, as if a brownie badge were involved, but most of us are wise enough to trust advertisers as much as we trust politicians. So you stand very little chance of remarking on the new me. It will be the old me, only a bit older. But I hope to keep the possibilities to just that – possibilities.

A childhood in India in the days of the Raj Extract from PETER SHILSTON‟s blog ...

(A lady called Joyce, a friend of my father, gave me this account) I was born near Madras, where my father was an official of the Imperial Bank of India. I was an only child, and there was no-one of my age living nearby, so when I once met another child I didn't know how to communicate or talk with her. We didn't mix socially with the Indians or Eurasians (mixed-race). Instead I had a pet goat, called Maggie. We lived in a large house belonging to the Bank, which had a garden (called a compound) and servants' quarters. There were five house servants and two gardeners. I had an aya (nurse) and a Eurasian nanny, but my best friend was my father's peone (bearer), who was called Robert. He was very old, and was delegated to take me for walks. I remember that in the hot weather we went up to the hills for three weeks, and there for the first time I met children of my own age at the kindergarten.

Our house was believed to be haunted. Even my father felt uneasy at times. There were poi-sonous snakes. Once we found a cobra on my mother's bed! She was in it at the time. My father called out "Don't move!", got his gun and shot it! I first came to England when I was 5, stayed for six months and then returned to India, where I nearly died of enteric fever. When I was 8 or 9 I was sent to school in England, at Hove in Sussex. I didn't see my parents again for three years; instead I was shuffled round be-tween relatives and friends in the school holi-days. That kind of arrangement was quite com-mon. I loved England because I was in good health there, whereas I was always ill in India.

The first school I went to in England was, I now realize, very strange. Because my par-ents' main priority was the state of my health, they liked its emphasis on life in the open air rather than on academic studies. After this I went to the Maynard School in Exeter, which was more traditional; and then three years later I was transferred to a day-school in Exmouth. By this time my father had retired from India, and my parents bought a house in Budleigh Salterton in Devon, where many other former Indian offi-cials lived. I left school at 16 and got married at 19, to an old family friend who was nine years older than me. He was a road engineer, and we spent our honeymoon in Germany, looking at Hitler's autobahns! Despite this, we had a very happy married life. We only visited India once, as tourists!

Gunga Din By Rudyard Kipling

You may talk o’ gin and beer

When you’re quartered safe out ’ere,

An’ you’re sent to penny-fights an’ Aldershot it;

But when it comes to slaughter

You will do your work on water,

An’ you’ll lick the bloomin’ boots of ’im that’s got it.

Now in Injia’s sunny clime,

Where I used to spend my time

A-servin’ of ’Er Majesty the Queen,

Of all them blackfaced crew

The finest man I knew

Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din,

He was ‘Din! Din! Din!

‘You limpin’ lump o’ brick-dust, Gunga Din!

‘Hi! Slippy hitherao

‘Water, get it! Panee lao,

‘You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din.’

The uniform ’e wore

Was nothin’ much before,

An’ rather less than ’arf o’ that be’ind,

For a piece o’ twisty rag

An’ a goatskin water-bag

Was all the field-equipment ’e could find.

When the sweatin’ troop-train lay

In a sidin’ through the day,

Where the ’eat would make your bloomin’ eyebrows crawl,

We shouted ‘Harry By!’

Till our throats were bricky-dry,

Then we wopped ’im ’cause ’e couldn’t serve us all.

It was ‘Din! Din! Din!

‘You ’eathen, where the mischief ’ave you been?

‘You put some juldee in it

‘Or I’ll marrow you this minute

‘If you don’t fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!’

’E would dot an’ carry one

Till the longest day was done;

An’ ’e didn’t seem to know the use o’ fear.

If we charged or broke or cut,

You could bet your bloomin’ nut,

’E’d be waitin’ fifty paces right flank rear.

With ’is mussick a on ’is back,

’E would skip with our attack,

An’ watch us till the bugles made 'Retire,’

An’ for all ’is dirty ’ide

’E was white, clear white, inside

When ’e went to tend the wounded under fire!

It was ‘Din! Din! Din!’

With the bullets kickin’ dust-spots on the green.

When the cartridges ran out,

You could hear the front-ranks shout,

‘Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!’

I shan’t forgit the night

When I dropped be’ind the fight

With a bullet where my belt-plate should ’a’ been.

I was chokin’ mad with thirst,

An’ the man that spied me first

Was our good old grinnin’, gruntin’ Gunga Din.

’E lifted up my ’ead,

An’ he plugged me where I bled,

An’ ’e guv me ’arf-a-pint o’ water green.

It was crawlin’ and it stunk,

But of all the drinks I’ve drunk,

I’m gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.

It was 'Din! Din! Din!

‘’Ere’s a beggar with a bullet through ’is spleen;

‘’E's chawin’ up the ground,

‘An’ ’e’s kickin’ all around:

‘For Gawd’s sake git the water, Gunga Din!’

’E carried me away

To where a dooli lay,

An’ a bullet come an’ drilled the beggar clean.

’E put me safe inside,

An’ just before ’e died,

'I ’ope you liked your drink,’ sez Gunga Din.

So I’ll meet ’im later on

At the place where ’e is gone—

Where it’s always double drill and no canteen.

’E’ll be squattin’ on the coals

Givin’ drink to poor damned souls,

An’ I’ll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!

Yes, Din! Din! Din!

You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!

Though I’ve belted you and flayed you,

By the livin’ Gawd that made you,

You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

RBW FICTION PROJECT FOR 2014/15 NOTES: ( CHANGES )

Story so far. Plotlines are developing ...

This is a listing of what we have so far ...

Place: 1897: The Grand Cosmopolitan Shipping Line Chain: The Nasturtium Hotel (GNH) in Trentby-on-Sea a place that has a similarity to Southampton, twinned with Murmansk and has a decided international flavour. Despite recent squabbles with Russia, France, South Africa and certain other countries all rich spending guests are welcomed

Time Span: Between the arrival and departure of the steamship The Star of Coldwynd Bay. About 3 weeks.

Hotel: The GNH is owned by The Cosmopolitan Shipping Line and is the usual Victorian Hotel. It has three classes of accommoda-

tion, that are roughly: Suites [1st floor] for those with money and the POSH nobs. Rooms [2nd and 3rd floors] for the not so well off. Accommodation [tiny attic rooms, top floor back] for staff

Staff: Basil Bluddschott (70s) – Manager Mrs. Cynthia Bluddschott (20s) - 2nd (trophy) wife of Basil — affair with Manchini

Daniel Bluddschott (40) – Son of Basil by 1st wife Miss Marian Bluddschott (35) – Daughter of Basil by 1st wife Mrs. Natasha Bluddschott (34) – wife of Daniel — gambling debts up to mischief

Antonio Roberto Manchini - Italian chef; has the hots for Marian & Cynthia Mrs. Bertha Buckett – Breakfast Cook in Charge — Peter the porter

Nancy the Scullery maid, Betty the Chambermaid Guests:

Lady Vera Accrington and Lady Gloria Stanley – a couple of old biddies with a chequered past who are enjoying themselves their Ward Dorothy ... much admired by the Maharajah and every other red-blooded male Major Martin – May be the ADC to the Prince of ??

The Russian Prince of ?? Referred to as Mr. Smith; even tho' everybody know who he is. Daphne Du Worrier - Writer Capt. Toby Fowlnett – Recently appointed skipper of the clipper ship The Star of Coldwynd Bay. He may be a little short on

experience as his last job was skipper of the IOW ferry. [Hey! How difficult can it be to find India or China?] St. John Smythe – Tea planter with holdings in Assam. The Maharajah of Loovinda and his wife and valet George (apologies to Shakespeare, you‘ll see why immediately)

The Sheik of the province of Kebab. (It‘s a farce!!) Walter Wales – hack writer for Capt. Thaddeus Hook travel books Murray Durrisdane (currently a Boots)— (Jamie Burke — Alexander Mulrose — baddies with Estella Murray‘s wife)

Russians? in room 212 Russian Agent Capt. Wild Will Body and his travelling Wild Rodeo Show, Missy Clementine Jane, Big chief Light–in-the-Sky and Texas Jim

McGraw the shootist (may be subject to change) Graf Hubrecht Walther Falscheim, the Graf von Jagerlagerberg involved with Ward Dorothy Kugyrand Rippling South African diamond dealer nasty piece of work

Princess Lotus Lily and her retinue including Fu Chan her major-domo — after a dragan boat and a female buddha

Music Hall turns playing at 'The Winter Gardens',

Also staying the GNH some in suites some in the accommodation class. Miranda Barkley – maybe mistress of the Prince of ?? Dario Stanza – singer Vesta Currie – cross-dresser hot stuff on the stage - Miss Maple piano-playing-Temperance Sister

Cystic Peg – Medium / Seances Dan Fatso – Charlie Chaplin type ALSO listed:

Diamond dealer — Boniface Monkface Jade - A rare Jade Buddha with a Kali Stone is specifically noted. A golden laughing Buddha and lots more

NOTES: CHECK THE DATE! Q. Victoria is Empress. Osborne House IoW is her fav. des. res. 1. Gas lighting or oil lamps – no public electricity supply about for another couple of decades; unless the hotel has its own

generator, electrical lighting is out. 2. Horses and carriages in the streets, steam trains for long distances and on the dockside. Trams in some areas.

3. Limited number of phones, usually locally between ministries or business offices. Messengers or Royal Mail normally used. Telegrams are available.

RBW Library Workshop group are working on a script for the next book. The ideas so far include a hotel in

the 1890s with as diverse a mix of travellers about to de-part for the far east as it is possible to squeeze into the

plot. Obviously the action will take place in Trentby-on-Sea, twinned with Murmansk, and

the establishment will be man-aged by Basil Bluddschott and his new wife Cynthia. If you‘ve ever watched a Carry On film you will have had all the training you‘d need to join in.

The annual joint project ...

The joint comedy is good practice in group co-operation, character building, plotting, dialogue, storyline arc etc and

besides it‘s hilarious to write an un-PC plot which pokes fun at everybody. Here outrageous stereotypes are encouraged!

What is more people actually read our free e-books ... Some brave souls even give us LIKES on Facebook

OPPORTUNITY: Take a room in the hotel ... Who is waiting to go to India? Why are they going? What are they running away from or towards?

Fowlnett and the Coal wharf

‗No problem today Toby,‘ Captain Tobias Richard Fowlnett told himself at breakfast. ‗All you've got to do is find the coal wharf. The Pride of Coldwynd Bay is there and you can take over. Ask that porter chap, he's bound

to know. Simple!‘ Getting his breakfast egg out of his beard took a little longer than normal, because the faces of Lady

Dorothy and Miss Maple kept appearing in his mirror, and tracking down the porter even longer.

‗Coal wharf, Captain! Which coal wharf d'you mean? There's six that I knows of and a couple of Navy ones' that you can't get near.‘ Peter the Porter told him when asked.

‗Ah. Which one does The Cosmopolitan Line use? My Chief Engineer used to take care of that for me on my

previous command.‘ ‗So far as I knows, Captin,‘ he replied. ‗The comp'ny 'as its own. Down at the Marsh End docks it is. They say

as 'ow they're fillin' the marsh wi' boiler slag so as they can do some buildin' down there. The comp'ny always takes the long view on these things.‘ If there was just a suspicion of doubt in the statement he hid it well. ‗Or so I've been told.‘

‗So how do I find this Marsh End coal yard then, Mr. Porter?‘ ‗That's easy Captin.‘ Peter, being somewhat nautically challenged, and facing the wrong way, used his hands

to illustrate his directions, ‗Go, er … East by two points South-ish down to the Blackleg Stove, past the Winter Gardens, turn Port, or is it Starboard, anyway you'll see what I means when you gets there, at the farm gate, an' go on for 'bout half a mile, the landward gate is there. Your ship should be in view from the gate-mans' 'ut.‘

‗East South East, Blackleg Stove, Winter Garden, turn, go ten cables, gate-mans' hut, got it! Thank you Mr. Porter.‘

Peter, who was being called 'Mr. Porter' so often these days that he was thinking of changing his name, if nothing else just to confuse the Police, saw Fowlnett go through the front door muttering to himself.

‗Into the Winter Garden first, Toby. It's, let me see! Yes…down here to Starboard, then a Port turn by a black

leaded stove, on for about five cables and you're there. Best foot forwards and off you go!‘ Taking a sharp Port turn

Toby set off to find his very own ship.

*** Three hours later, Toby, hiding in the hedge from a herd of cows [he hoped – he'd heard about Bulls],

asked a passing cattle drover for directions to Trentby. ‗Whoy, bless yer 'art, zir. Trentby be thataway,‘ he indicated the direction Toby had just come, ‗'bout

two hours walk, if yer runs.‘

Chuckling at his wit he continued, ‗Jus' you come along o' me, Bosun. I got ter get these 'ere beeves ter the railway cattle yards along o' that Grand an' Nasty-urshum 'otel wot they as there. Yoo 'elps me driv' 'em and

I'll steer you there. Wot you lookin' fer anyway?‘ ‗The Cosmopolitan Shipping Line Coal Yard at the Marsh End part of the docks,‘ Toby told him. ‗Ohh ar I knows tha..at. It's royt be th' ol' Black Leg stove pub. Pity it got burnt down last wik, 'cos us

can't driv' away the thirst wi' a quart or two of ol' ale there now. O' course the ol' polis is alookin' fer the bloke wot done it; feller be the name o' Foul-sommat, net I think it where.

Thas royt Fouldnet it were, 'cordin' ter the newspapers any road.

Musta bin drunk I reckons, yer dunner go roun' burnin' down PUBS! You know 'im?

This Fouldnet feller? You bein' a sailor an all!‘ Toby was quick enough on his feet when the need took him.

‗Aye matey, shipped alongside him once, decky he be,‘ he said. ‗Not all shipshape and Bristol fashion 'tween the ears, but even if he is as mad as a hatter it can't be him, he sailed for India weeks ago. Them News-

papers must have got it wrong!‘ ‗Could be royt there an orl, Bosun. My Missus be the one fer readin' an she says that they'm not royt

half th' toime.‘

When a tired, and decidedly smelly, Toby did arrive at the padlocked gate it bore a notice that was just visible in the gathering darkness.

TRENTBY PORT AUTHORITY HARBOUR MASTERS OFFICE

This area of the docks is CLOSED until further notice. --------

(AMENDED PIECE)

The Fountain Comes Alive ACW As dawn broke, the circus began to stir as trainers and keepers began to tend to

trained beasts and the stunt ponies, including the pintos (called piebalds in England), paints (skewbalds), palominos (gold coloured with white mane), roans (red with white hairs, similar to strawberry fruit) and the amazing Appaloosas with black dots over hind-quarters of the Nez Perce American Indians.

In the tribal section, one of the partner owners noticed a large old fountain of cast iron missing any connection to water drains yet full of water.

He drew nearer and saw a chain strong enough to have held a big ship‘s anchor, an-chored to a heavy and wide ironwork column by the fountain‘s pool.

The water seemed clear and empty of fish. But yet in first light‘s shadow. A warning yell came from the teepees that stopped him in his tracks, and he turned to

one side in curiosity. The water parted in a rush and brought his attention back to the fountain, only to see

the rearing great head and front end of a crocodile surging for him. Transfixed in terror, he fell back certain of meeting his maker in those great jaws. But the chain held fast and the ironwork column did not pull out of the ground. ‗Sorry about that Sir, Mr Trigger. He‘s a big brute, ain‘t he?‘ ‗What the heck, Billy Boy?‘ ‗Yes Sir, me and Long Shanks caught him from the sewers. We can do a better deal on

our fee now and share the menagerie viewing ticket price. Lots of folk will want to see: ‗Thrilling Fight With Man-Eating Swamp Monster‘. We can put in the sketch how you got close and bring him out like that. That should make the ladies scream and men gasp.‘

‗I ain‘t doing that again Billy Boy, no Siree bob.‘ ‗He‘s just joshing you, Mr Trigger. I‘ll do it,‘ offered Long Shanks. ‗You betcha. You boys do this for a hobby back home.‘

All the best pantomimes or

farces have a

crocodile ... It’s a well-known

fact that we just made up.

Where ever there is a

Bluddschott

somewhere there

will be a crocodile ...

Nobody said writing

Farce was easy!

It takes skill

and a developed sense of

the surreal to write like this.

Why not have a go?

The Speed of Events ACW

Lady Courtney read her mother‘s letter, admonishing her for getting involved with ‗those women‘ as she called the Lady Bicyclists and for riding about in near undress on her bicycle in a public place. It was

fine back on the country estate, out of the public gaze. But her mother‘s letter went on to say that her father was right pleased that her neighbour in the hotel

had his staff looking after his daughter, and wished to pass on his thanks. Lady Courtney‘s father had had words with the father of Sir John St John-Smythe during an army re-

union dinner in London and was most pleased at St John-Smythe courting his daughter and encouraged

the union, as did St John-Smythe‘s father. Lady Courtney sat bolt upright in reading the next part of the letter about her father. Her father was

right pleased that the brother of St John-Smythe was the Lieutenant Governor of the British Raj province of Punjab, the home of the Sikhs.

‗Good Gracious!‘

Kaur Daya sat up and asked, ‗Is there anything that troubles you My Lady?‘ ‗The brother of St John-Smythe is the Lieutenant Governor of Punjab?‘

‗Oh yes My Lady. I am a distant cousin of the Maharaja of the princely state next to the British Raj Punjab Province, ruled by Sir John St. John-Smythe‘s brother as Lieutenant Governor.‘

‗My word!‘ Lady Courtney scanned quickly the rest of the letter, about domestic news on the estate, then alighted

on the end of the letter.

Her mother told her she had been in touch with the Bishop of Trentby Cathedral to announce the banns, which had already been read in their parish church and in the parish of St John-Smythe‘s.

Her mother finishing by saying, ‗We will have to get your Lady‘s Maid to you and get her to sort your wedding gown with the best design house in Trentby.‘

Lady Courtney said stunned at this and then saw there was further mail. This time on far more flowery and fine paper. She opened the seal and it read,

Dear Lady Courtney, my dearest Julia, I hope you will pardon my boldness when I tell you how truly, how deeply I love you. Perhaps prudence would dictate I should withhold this confession, but my heart is impatient and will not be quieted until I have made you acquainted with its secret. You have won my whole heart. Your charms have so easily captivated me, and wish them to shine before me for the rest of our lives. Love is a passion of the soul, which may be born in an instant, especially in the presence of beauty and accomplishments such as you possess. May you tell me that which I most want to hear, my darling Julia? Will you take pity on a forlorn bachelor and marry me at once, and take me out of my mis-ery? With all my heart, whenever you are ready, my darling love, to consent to the happy day when we could be married? My dearest Julia, be mine forever. John

Just then the Butler Bharjinder Singh entered Lady Courtney‘s room, after consent given at his knock

at the adjoining door, and bowed and asked, ‗Sir John wonders if you are well enough recovered to at-tend supper tonight, My Lady?‘

‗I could manage some soup and tea.‘ ‗At 10 of the clock then, My Lady.‘ ‗Yes.‘

At the appointed time, with Daya Kaur at her elbow, Lady Courtney went into the dining room of St John-Smythe, where the table was laid with no entrees but only the soup plates and tea cups, with the

teapot on the sideboard, ready to be served by the footman. St John-Smythe hurried to Lady Courtney‘s side to support her at elbow and gently helped her to her

seat. After the etiquette of the short dinner, he rose and approached Lady Courtney and went down on

one knee. ‗My darling Julia, my dearest love, since the first night I saw you, the perfection and the constellation

of charms that shine in your person have filled my heart and brain so full that I can do nothing but think of you all day and dream of you all night. I cannot imagine any happiness for myself in the future without

you. Please be mine, my dearest darling Julia.‘ ‗Yes John, I will.‘ ‗Oh Julia, please accept a token of my undying love.‘

St John-Smythe handed Lady Courtney a small velvet box, which upon opening held a diamond set gold engagement ring, flanked by diamond hearts. There was an awkward moment as Lady Courtney‘s

bruised and swollen hands and even more swollen and cut lip made kissing impractical.

He reached and kissed Lady Courtney on the cheek, on the ear, at her throat. St John-Smythe be-came a bit inflamed and headed for less appropriate places. Lady Courtney affected a faint to put him

off and it worked. ‗Oh my dear Julia! Bharjinder Singh, get the nurse, quickly!‘

Riches for Free ACW

Walter Wales had decided to push the boat out and the shipping line had also offered to help subsi-dise a suite for him, to gain a good write up in the esteemed Thaddeus Chef travel books.

Selling the first class suites on board would also bring in customers for the cordon bleu French chef‘s restaurant, for the posh folk, who were port out and starboard home, to get the best views from their

suite cabin port holes. As India was amongst the longest voyages for the shipping line, such customers were the backbone of the business.

Walter had aspired to the best things in life and this writing career was bringing him that lifestyle.

The suite looked out over a small square of garden of trees and roses, carefully tended and pro-tected by wrought ironwork fencing and gate.

Inside, Walt‘s hotel suite had a its own tiled bathroom with fireplace stove, a large bedroom with velvet curtained four poster bed and a sitting room each having an open fireplace with mantelpiece of marble atopped by gold coloured fashionable clock. The open fireplaces sported black and gold

wrought ironwork fire screens. There was a dressing room off the bedroom. The commode in the bathroom was hidden beneath

polished furniture. The marble topped wash stand in the bathroom had a porcelain toilet set of basin and jug, in which hot water was placed by a dedicated servant to the suite.

Walter was looking forward to the cigars and even finer food on offer in this 5 star hotel, the first class suite cabin on board the ship to India and being offered the best suites in Calcutta‘s top hotels.

This was the life, thought Walt, sat on a comfy high backed armchair and feet up on a padded foot

stool and wrapped in a complementary velvet dressing robe and leather slippers. Walt was born of a butler and a lady‘s maid to a big house and so knew what was class and what

was not. His early life had been a coachman in livery, on the coach for the Lord and Lady of the stately home in the Hampshire countryside and their town house in London‘s fashionable St John‘s Wood.

Walt had already enjoyed the pleasures in the colonies, amongst the elite, waited on hand and foot. He had been the guest of the Sheikh of Kebab, who was the colonial Native Agent in the Arab colony, in a palace bedecked in gold and precious stones on wall and ceiling, cool marble colonnaded court-

yards and jade and ivory ornaments everywhere. Walt then noticed that one of the occasional tables in the sitting room was Arabic in design, with

ivory within the marquetry on the table top. On it was, in stark contrast, a small rotund jolly laughing gold Buddha looking back at him at eye

level.

That incarnation of Buddha, with exposed pot belly and fine robe, Walt knew from his travels, sym-bolised contented joy, good luck and riches to come, which was why the Buddha statue was depicted

carrying a sack that never empties, and was placed in homes to remind us not to work too hard or be-come greedy.

And more, this laughing Buddha also held the oogi, the wish giving fan, that was to show an aristo-crat‘s entourage that their wishes would be granted. Not only that but this laughing Buddha was auspi-ciously placed on a corner table facing the main door of the suite, so activating manifold the Feng Shui

energy to becoming highly prosperous. Then Walt realised that by the Buddha depicted as carrying a sack, it was also the travelling Buddha.

Auspicious indeed for Walt, to gain wealth and good fortune from his travels. But who in the hotel would know so much in placing this laughing Buddha just right for him, other than himself who was

also so well travelled?

The Invite ACW

Walter Wales sat back on the plush armchair of his luxury suite to begin his write up of the hotel. He was intrigued to have learned that his travelling Buddha was not the property of the hotel, but

had arrived by messenger on the day he was due to take up the booking of his room. Neither was the Buddha a gift from the shipping line.

He put down his pen and began to look about the hollow Buddha statue, that from its base he ascer-tained was bronze and painted with gold leaf. There were mantra little scrolls sticking out of the slit in the statue‘s back to keep the good fortune in health and wealth.

As he moved the Buddha, a small card was dislodged from underneath it. He stooped to pick it up from the floor.

The card read, Heard you will soon be on the steamship to Calcutta, India. You are cordially invited to travel on to Peking, China, via Hong Kong, all expenses paid, on the private steamship of Dowager Em-press of China.

Walter sat stunned, then a single manic laugh escaped his lips, followed by allowing himself a whoop of joy. He was being allowed to visit the Forbidden City, by invitation of the Imperial family. What a

scoop!

Bang! The ebony cane struck the tablecloth with a wallop

heard all across the dining room. Luncheon takers stared at each other in amazement. The impudence of the fellow. How dare he

disturb their luncheon banter with such an outlandish display ... Cynthia Bluddschott glanced at the restaurant‘s maître d‘hôtel

her step-son Daniel, who was virtually the same age as herself and married to that Natasha, a person whom Cynthia detested

with a venomous intensity. ‗Daniel,‘ she hissed, ‗go and sort it out.‘ The young man hesitated. That was a sword stick that Va-ranasi chap was thrashing about and Monkface was a blighter.

‗Now! Daniel,‘ hissed Cynthia screwing up her napkin. As it happened Daniel‘s intervention wasn‘t needed. Both men

were already leaving the crowded dining room much to the relief of both diners and staff.

Monkface led the annoyed client to his impromptu office in

the bay window of the foyer, discreetly positioned behind a dy-ing potted palm and a wilted aspidistra in a fake majolica pot.

‗Why is it taking so long?‘ snapped Varanasi. ‗What did he say?‘

‗My dear good sir,‘ wailed the dealer. ‗These are delicate discussions. I have ascertained Mr Burke is a guest at

this hotel and have sent him my card and asked for a moment of his time to discuss a mutually beneficial transac-tion. As yet I have received no reply.‘

Varanasi‘s top lip quivered with annoyance. ‗Ascertained? You idiot, of course, he‘s here, why do you think I

am here? I knew that before I registered. I watched him arrive with Estella Durrisdane.‘ Monkface merely smiled and spread his pudgy pink hands in a gesture of agreement. No, he‘d heard that

wrong, hadn‘t he? Another Durrisdane? Was that a co-incidence? Who was this Estella? ‗Tell me. Is he here, too?‘ Monkface blinked. ‗Who?‘

‗Murray, of course, Murray Durrisdane?‘ ‗Lady Durrisdane has arrived but I‘ve no idea if his Lairdship is here in person,‘ said Monkface and immediately

bit his tongue. That was really a stupid admission. Varanasi was on him in a second, a long fingered hand at his throat. ‗So he‘s here! He‘s not dead! Is he in the

market for the Buddha? Or is he out to kill Burke before I do?‘

Monkface squeaked in terror and a tell tale dampness spread down his trouser leg to puddle inside his black patent shoe.

More passengers for the steamer have arrived:

Doctor Kaun and Methi, went into the dining room for their evening meal. The Doctor was dressed in his dinner jacket, his elegant dress somewhat marred by a multi-coloured scarf about twelve feet

long. Methi wore an evening dress which showed off her voluptuous figure to a ‗T‘ but more properly a ‗P‘, gentlemen will know what I mean.

The first course of brown Windsor soup was not a great success, more of a khaki Windsor soup. The fish course of grey mullet was truly grey. The main course of roast beef was not so much roasted as aged. The spotted dick and custard was somewhat heavy, indeed the cooking technique was later

used by arms manufacturers to improve their howitzer shells. The cheese course was not a pretty sight, not so much mouse trap as mouse crap. Just do not ask about the coffee.

‗My compliments to the chef,‘ said Kaun to the waiter. ‗Tomorrow he must join me at table.‘ ‗Surely, you don‘t mean that sir,‘ trembled the waiter.

‗Yes, I do, he must sample the culinary delights he has manufactured.‘ ‗Don‘t you mean cooked?‘

‗I know what I mean,‘ growled Kaun. Sardaar, Kaun‘s arch enemy, sat at an adjacent table waited on by his lackey Tehlua. Sardaar was

more adventurous in his choice of evening meal, a decision he later came to regret in the small hours and in the large hours too. Luckily his room was ensuite, although, after he had been there for some time it was un-sweet.

His mistake was to order the curry, listed on the menu as ‗Meat Curry‘. I do not know which meat but there were few cats or rats in the vicinity of the hotel. The curry was served on a bed of rice. It

was a strange green colour and that was just the rice, the curry itself was a yellowish colour with lumps of swede and undercooked potato. Sardaar ate with relish, Mango chutney or I hope it was

Mango, the curry could not be eaten unadorned. Halfway through his meal he made an excuse and left. He established a world record for climbing stairs that night and only just made it to his room.

Kaun chuckled, ‗Everyone knows the English can‘t cook a decent curry. Still it will keep him out of

my way for a while.‘

Kaun and Methi went back to their room and consulted a weird machine with lots of flashing lights. The machine spoke

‗Have you had a Bank loan, you may have been mis-sold PPI?‘‘

‗Damnation,‘ said Kaun. ‗We have crossed wires here.‘ He gave the machine a kick. ‗Tilt tilt tilt,‘ moaned the machine.

Kaun got his tool kit and selected the sonic sledgehammer and waved it near the machine. ‗Only joking,‘ quivered the machine.

‗Any more of that,‘ said Kaun, ‗and I will make you read the Daily Mail‘ ‗No NO anything but that. What do you want to know?‘ ‗Where are the locations of the four lesser Buddhas?‘

‗You will need the Tri-corder.‘ ‗Trike order? Trike order? Why will I need to order a tricycle?‘ asked Kaun.

‗Oh blast it, wrong science fiction series,‘ said the machine ‗Get out your sonic screwdriver and stick it in your ear.‘

‗Why should I do that, will it locate the Buddhas?‘ ‗No it won‘t.‘ ‗Why should I do it then?‘

‗It will give me laugh when you switch it on and jump in the air.‘ ‗That is it,‘ said Kaun to Methi, ‗it will need rebooting‘, he kicked the machine which went into a sulk.

‗We will have to use our brains to find the Buddhas.‘ ‗Not much chance then, with this story‘s plot, is there?‘ laughed Methi. Meanwhile in Sardaar‘s room Tehlua was applying balm to Sri Sardaar‘s affliction caused by the meat

curry and Empire extra strength toilet paper. ‗Aaaaargh,‘ screamed Sardaar, ‗that hurts. Are you using Dr Crippen‘s patent soothing ointment?‘

‗No master, it says on the label Dr Patel‘s Oil of Chilli,‘ replied Tehlua. ‗Go away and let me suffer alone, you fool. Go and buy a street map of the area.‘

Tehlua whispered to himself: ‗Anything to get away from the results of that curry.‘

More loudly he said, ‗Yes master,‘ and left the room. Sri Sardaar opened his wardrobe and as you expected there was a machine with flashing lights.

‗Our records show you have not yet applied for your government grant to insulate your house,‘‘ the machine said.

‗Wrong century idiot,‘ screamed Sardaar. ‗No need to be like that,‘ whined the machine. ‗What will I need to find the four lesser Buddhas, dolt?‘

‗A fish kettle, some herbs, a salmon and a ladle, oh great one.‘ ‗What use are they?‘

‗None master but they won‘t cause you the same problem as the curry.‘ ‗Silence when you speak to Sri Sardaar,‘ he shouted. ‗Why don‘t you answer, you stupid machine.‘

‗Do you want me to be silent or not?‘ Sri Sardaar went to the wardrobe and got his wellington boots

Wham! The machine was rebooted. ‗I will have to use my superior brain instead,‘ bragged Sardaar.

The machine whispered, ‗Not much chance then, with this story‘s plot, is there?‘ So there you have it, two matchless (or much less) brains pitted against each other. One owner

of said brains being on the good side and the other on the bad side, you get the idea. Both trying to

get the Buddhas which when touching give the owner unlimited power. Four of the Buddhas held by people in and around the hotel, with the powerful female Buddha, the Maitreiya somewhere nearby.

All of the present owners totally unaware of what they possess.

Peg 1A Crystals 'Crystals are the key to another World, Dot. I'm convinced of it. The GIANT ones in

the exhibition room has shown me that.' 'Lumps of rock? Don't be silly, Peg. How can a lump of rock do anything?' Dorothy's

tone was severely sceptical. 'Apart from coal and jewellery that is.' 'Just wait and see', came the reply. 'What I'm going to do with them will knock you

for six, maybe eight.' Dot snorted, 'What are you to have them doing? Blinking on and off?' Peg chuckled as she said, 'Blinking on and off? Now wouldn't that be great. Thanks

for the idea, I wonder if there's a way? But you wait until you see them! Those rocks are ma...agic!'

In the deserted 'Exhibition Room' stood ten stones, all the same and, simultane-ously, all different.

Petronella stood in silent awestruck wonder at the sight, but Dorothy, rather like the Queen, ‗Was not amused!‘

'You're right, Peg, they're quite fabulous. How big are they?' 'According to the owner,' Peg replied, 'the biggest is over Seven foot Six and the or-

ange and pink one, is just over Two foot high.' 'But those colours, Peg, those colours! They're ... I can't find words to describe

them. You're right, I wish you could work them into your act.' 'If you can afford them, my dear lady, they could be yours. I only want One Thou-

sand, Three Hundred, and Fifty pounds for the big one and a Hundred and Twenty for the little one.' The rather dumpy man standing near them said.

'In Trentby!? You must be cracked! Nobody will pay that for a few stones…even if

they are a bit special'. Dorothy stopped because she couldn't think of words to de-scribe how she felt.

'I have some smaller ones as well, my dear. I'm selling them at Five to Ten English shillings each. Maybe I could interest you in a few, they'd be good as conversation pieces.'

But it was time for Petronella to give Dorothy her daily elocution lesson, however, she was so 'far away' during it that she didn't even think to tell Dorothy that there'd been improvements in her speech. Strange thoughts, ones' she was sure weren't hers, were flooding into her head.

'Dotty, come with me to see that man with those stones, please?' Petronella begged as they left the Winter Garden rehearsal room to go back to the

Grand Nasturtium Hotel, 'I may be as mad as a March hare, but I've got an idea.' In the 'Exhibition Room' Petronella cornered 'The Man' and demanded to see all his

smaller stones. This amounted to a large box filled with them. Slowly, and to no apparent plan, she selected ten, clenched fist sized, stones: two

rose red, four white, three blue tinted with gold bits in them, and a, much larger, translucent one.

'Ten shillings; for the lot!' Peg offered. 'Lady, please! You may be mad, but I am not. Ten shillings? No, that is not enough.

For a pound I may be willing to let you have them. These darlings of my heart are not lightly released.'

Dorothy, and Petronella, knew a bargaining ploy when they heard one. It discom-forted the man when they both laughed and shook their heads.

'Twelve bob then.' Petronella offered, 'Not that they're worth it, but I like pretty rocks. The shop value of the small ones is maybe six pence each and a top end of one and six pence for the big one.'

'Twelve and Six, lady? For the produce of sweat and tears in the jungles of South America. A place where the miners risk their lives every step of the way...' His spiel was cut short as Petronella took four half-crowns and a florin from her reticule.

'Sorry. Ain't got a tanner to go with them, Mister. A Three penny bit any good?' she said, carefully placing them, one-by-one, on the table.

A receipt was written out and the stones carefully wrapped. In the Palm Court Petronella poured fire bucket sand onto a tray, then placed her

crystals onto the sand and sat arranging and re-arranging them to a pattern that only she could see.

'Rocks ain't got roots, Pet. You can't get them to grow,' a curious Dorothy told her. 'This ain't 'bout roots, it's 'bout shines,' was the mysterious answer. The large off-centre stone had a beam of sunlight playing on it and it started to

glow, on its own and gently at first. Petronella hummed an odd, off key, tune as she arranged the other stones. They

picked up the light and it was reflected back and forth, between them giving them a

weird, eerie, unearthly, glow. 'There!' Petronella said as she sat back and looked at her handiwork, 'when the sun

shines in the right place that'll turn into a ball of light. What do you think, Dotty, any good for my act?'

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