Issue 371 23rd January 2015

2

Freedom of Speech ... What does that mean? Does it mean anybody can say anything about any-body? No it does not!! It means one can say things within the bounds of the laws of Slander and

Libel. This rule of thumb applies to the internet as well as printed papers. As a trained journalist I have shuddered when I have seen some of the things on blogs and social media campaign groups with photographs of unpopular people alongside vile and derogatory wording. If those so de-

picted decided to sue they would be well within their rights and what is more anyone else who passed on those vile images would be equally libellous, if not more so, in the eyes of the law. To think a person is not doing a good job is subjective opinion not cold hard fact ... To say so on the

web is dangerous ... It is all too easy to get carried away with emotion and forget it‘s your house and all your savings you are gambling with when you start name calling.

There‘s no place like home, there‘s no place like home (tap, tap of heels) when you have spent some time in hospital.

Last night, Wednesday 14th, we met for our 1st choir

practice of 2015, having been off over the Christmas period. We wished each other Happy New Year, and

quickly realised that already, we are halfway through January! Where DOES the time go to?

Random words : dark, mildew, dog, happen, name, address, punc-tuation, exception, circle, sailor, banana, house Assignment : The Maverick

Rising Brook/Holmcroft/

Baswich/Gnosall

Libraries are under threat.

Here‘s an easy resolution COME to WORKSHOP ... Every Monday 1.30 start

Rising Brook Library

WANNABE POETS HOW ARE YOU MAKING SUBMISSIONS TO COMPETITIONS? DO YOU? (a) Submit a poem like submitting it to a publisher: clearly printed in black or is it more fun to send it in

pretty pink ink with handwriting fonts and illustrated with flowers and leaf borders or winged angels in the margins? IS THIS YOU? (b) Think of the poem as a visual! If centred there must be a good reason or perhaps one thinks it‘s

just the way one always does it, like always starting a new line with a capital letter and always in rhym-ing couplets ... Yawn (c) Read the poem out loud. Even better read it in group and look at the body language: are people

squirming with embarrassment, or actually choking with suppressed mirth: was it so bad that they couldn‘t dare say so? (d) Do you consider line-breaks and caesura, do you work out how and where a line stops and the use

of enjambment? Don‘t know what any of that means? If one wants to be a poet do try to earn the craft ... (e) Do you realise the importance of the title? ... Enough said.

www.issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

POETRY LIBRARY UPDATE: Latest Competitions: The Interpreter's House Poetry Competition | Closing Date: 01-Feb-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1683 15th Poetry on the Lake International Competition | Closing Date: 31-Mar-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1686 £5,000 Troubadour International Poetry Prize 2015 | Closing Date: 19-Oct-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1685

New Exhibitions: Rego Retold | 17-Mar-15 to 03-May-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/exhibitions/current/?id=99 Latest News: Items added to the Poetry Library in December 2014 | 14-Jan-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/library/?id=1295 Poetry Magazines Received in December 2014 | 14-Jan-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/library/?id=1294 David Harsent's;Fire Songs; wins T S Eliot Prize | 13-Jan-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/poetryscene/?id=1293

#Afterhours Blog 6 | 09-Jan-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/library/?id=1291 Jonathan Edwards wins Costa Poetry Award 2014 | 08-Jan-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/poetryscene/?id=1290

Music was my First Love! Slender hips and nipped in waist Curvy bust-line – that‘s his taste! Long thin neck- smooth to the touch A luscious mouth, doesn‘t talk too much. Speaks in words he can relate In drunken and in sober state. Standing tall on pointed heels, Any man she likes, she steals. Sultry glance or long hard stare, Commands attention everywhere. Handle gently, let power lock, Tuned to make the whole world rock. Strum the strings of your guitar the greatest love affair BY FAR.

Lin Priest

6

Gardening Tips January

Don’t forget that these days most of the garden centres have a collection point for

Christmas trees when they are finished with, as do many councils. They are, I be-

lieve, put through a big shredder and the resulting chippings are then used as a

mulch in the council parks and gardens, giving back to the land what has been taken

out. We have a small shredder and any dead branches, or any other prunings of small

shrubs or trees, are shredded and used on our borders and also on our allotments be-

tween the fruit bushes as a weed suppressant. I know you shouldn’t walk on the soil,

but a carpet of chippings between bushes is also better to walk on, than bare soil,

and it lets you get up close to the bushes. Just a word of warning though, you proba-

bly shouldn’t shred your own Christmas tree because the pine needles are very

acidic and may poison the soil for many types of plants unless they are well mixed

in with other chippings.

We are still eating our own Curly Kale, Artichokes, Pink Fir Apple Potatoes, Kohl

Rabbi and Turnips. You may not know, but Kale is supposed to be very good for the

eyesight and is being recommended by some opticians. Artichokes are said to be

good for the kidneys, although I don’t know whether they would do much for us 90

year olds, but it might be worth younger people eating them. It is Jerusalem Arti-

chokes that grow in the ground like potatoes not the Globe which look like Thistle

flower heads. They are easy to prepare with no scraping or peeling, just a bit of rub

and then put them in boiling water for about 20 minutes; or you can roast them after

a short boil, like potatoes. The very small Artichokes and Pink Fir Apple Potatoes

that are too small to bother with will be saved and potted to grow on and be planted

out for next years crop. Kohl rabbi we prefer to eat raw, but peeled and grated, in a

salad, like you might Carrot. I like some in cheese sandwiches and find it a little

moister and crisper than Carrot, but not so chewy. Everyone has their own likes and

ideas though.

Alan has bought some young Hazel trees that were being sold as ideal plants for

hedging. There were about a dozen in one pot which worked out at just over £1 each

plant and he has potted them all up individually to grow on outside for planting later.

At the same time we saw some old fashioned Blackthorn, or Prunus Spinosa that

you get Sloes from. We won’t use them to make “Sloe Gin,” but we did like the idea

of some Rosa Rugosa that we also saw as you can use the berries, or Rose Hips, to

make Rose Hip Syrup which was very popular during the war.

In the Winter, flowers are in short supply from our own garden, so in-

stead of buying expensive imported flowers I have started using my own

dried instead. Back in the Autumn we cut and hung up to dry, some

Honesty, Teasels, Allium seed heads and even some herb seed heads. Oh

yes, and dead aspidistra leaves lightly sprayed with a bit of Christmas

spray paint look very nice and fill a few empty vases.

Well that’s all for now.

Cheerio. Frances Hartley.

Percy John Thrower MBE (30 January 1913 – 18 March 1988) was a

popular British gardener, horticulturist, broadcaster and writer born at Horwood House in the village of Little Horwood in Buckingham-

shire.Source material Wikipedia and other web outlets

He became nationally known through presenting gardening

programmes, starting in 1956 on the BBC's Gardening Club then later on the BBC's Gardeners' World from 1969 until 1976. He has been described as "Britain's first celebrity gardener" For many years Percy

Thrower was the leading face and voice of British gardening on televi-sion and radio. His first TV series was Country Calendar, followed by Out and About. When colour television arrived this was renamed Gardeners' World and he regularly presented Gardeners' World from 1969 until 1976. He was also the gardener on the children's programme Blue Peter from 1974 until 1987, appearing in over 100 broadcasts, making him the longest-serving Blue Peter gardener. One of his best remembered achievements was establishing

the Blue Peter garden at Television Centre. In 1963 he built a house near Shrewsbury, called "The Magnolias", in the small village of

Merrington with a garden of about one and a half acres to "play with". The garden subsequently be-came the location for Gardeners' World. He opened the garden to the public in 1966, and this be-came an annual event to raise money for charity.

He retired in 1974 from the post of Superintendent of Parks as Shrewsbury and started a weekly column for the Daily Mail in 1975. He also wrote for the Daily Express and the Sunday Ex-press. He wrote for the magazine Amateur Gardening and wrote many books, published by Colling-bridge and Hamlyn. As a TV celebrity he appeared with Morecambe and Wise (1971) and Benny Hill.

He was also on "This is Your Life" in 1976. In 1976 he gave a lecture to the Royal Institution titled "Changing Fashions in Gardening", and in 1977 wrote his memoirs, My Lifetime of Gardening. The same year the Royal Horticultural Society awarded him the Victoria Medal of Honour. He was ap-

pointed a Member of the Order of the British Empire (MBE) in 1984. He became involved in hosting gardening tours in Europe, established the Percy Thrower Floral

Tours Company and English Gardening Weekends. It is said on one of these weekends he was first taken ill. He made his last recording for Blue Peter from hospital one week before he died. Percy and his wife Connie had three daughters: Margaret born 1944, Susan 1948, Ann 1952. He died in

the Royal Hospital, Wolverhampton, on 18 March 1988, aged 75, his ashes were buried in the churchyard at Leaton, near Bomere Heath, Shropshire.

Stafford Knot Storytelling Club 27th January 7.00pm Ye Olde Rose and Crown, Market Street, Stafford

Bawdy Folk Tales - Nell Phoenix Humorously indecent stories of love-lorn folk in search of rude relief for urgent needs (or Steamy Stories For Cold Nights)

How do you find your perfect partner? How do you pre-test 'everlasting' love? Folk-tales with flesh, spirit and urges, and more strewn sheets than hospital corners.

Nell is Artistic Director of StoryNight at Torriano, one of London's thriving performance storytelling clubs for adults. She is also resident storyteller for Nyx Chariot, a monthly radio show for NTS Live.

Recent work includes stories told for the Crick Crack Club at Rich Mix and The Forge, at Highgrove, Hackney Library, Kensington Palace and a Boiler Room gig for NTS Live (sponsored by Red Stripe!). Nell has recently completed tours of India, Colombia and Mexico for the British Council and Dream On Productions.

Doors open 7.00pm stories start 7:30pm Tickets £5.00

It never happened - it's no use asking me. Assignment. It never happened? O yes it did. I remember it well. I've still got the scar to prove it. From my boarding school in that stately home in Dorset, the mile or so to the nearest shops in the neighbouring town was downhill nearly all the way. Ideal for bicycles. Ideal, at any rate, for bicycles with brakes. Was it a case of sabotage? It's no use asking me. I only knew the growing thrill of swiftly gathering speed - the mild alarm at brakes that didn't seem to work - the fast approaching low railed iron fence - the bike just left behind entangled in that fence - and me arriving in the grassy field beyond sans bike, sans breath, sans quite a lot of skin to my left thigh. It never happened? O yes it did. I remember it well. I've still got the scar to prove it.

Random Words Poor, result, falling, career, betony, dreaded, new moon, cycle

Herbs

Culpeper suggests that herbs should be collected in the light of the full moon. Betony Hayseed had made her career as a herbalist and consequently was poor. Today she was off to collect Vipers Bu-

gloss from a coastal meadow. She was wearing her blouse and shorts because it was warm and sunny. Her cycle was dreadfully old and was held together by string, wire and faith. Today she free-wheeled down Porlock Hill; look it up on a map and you will see that it is long and steep. Betony

was enjoying the view of the Bristol Channel and the wind on her face. The ancient brakes failed, she increased speed alarmingly and as she tried to negotiate the bend halfway down her front wheel

hit the kerb. Away she flew and landed softly in her beloved herbs – Nettles, a thick patch. With remarkable self-control she exclaimed, ―Oh bug, oh bug, oh bugloss.‖

It never happened. Assignment. The Members of Parliament gave up their Christmas vacation. They had been so upset that the NHS

was in difficulties. After an all-night sitting it was a unanimous vote, no absences no abstentions. More money was immediately transferred to the NHS budget. In a sub-clause, the alcohol industry

was taxed for every drunk that went to and A and E. In order to raise more money the vote reduced MPs‘ pay to that of the average wage. There was dancing in the streets and MPs were regarded as champions of the people. Then I woke up.

RESEARCH INTO FOOD OF THE 1800s A recipe very similar to the Victorian Curry and is probably the same

Curried Mutton from the Radiation Cookery Book of 1931

Curried Mutton

2 Tablespoonfuls coconut

2 lbs. Mutton

2 oz. dripping

1 Onion - Chopped

1 Small apple – peeled, cored and chopped

1 Tablespoonful curry powder

¾ Pint of stock

2 oz. Flour

2 oz. Sultanas

1 Tomato cut into quarters

½ Teaspoonful of Sugar ½ Teaspoonful of Salt 1 Tablespoonful Lemon juice

(Boiled rice)

Steep the coconut in a little boiling water. Remove the bones

from the meat and divide into one inch square. Fry the meat until brown in the heated dripping. Re-move the meat and fry the onions and apple. Sprinkle in the curry powder and flour and fry for a

few minutes; gradually add stock, bring to the boil whilst stirring, turn into a casserole with the rest of the ingredients, including the water strained from the coconut. (The coconut is not used). Cover with a lid and cook in the oven for two hours in a very slow heat. Dish in a pile with the sauce

around and serve with a dish of boiled rice.

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

Story so far. Plotlines ...

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—its rival is the Imperial Hotel which is almost next door on the prom.

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 & Mulrose sis-ter— Murray‘s mother Lady Durrisdane also arrives

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 and a ninja — after the dragon boat 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 - and a South African gem dealer Jade - A rare Sankarat statuette with a Kali Stone (and lots more) - A nicked imperial dragon boat— a trinket from the Em-peror‘s private collection worth a very large reward (NB Sankarat is completely fictional)

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?

The Girls Day Out ACW

Lady Amelia Carruthers and Lady Julia Courtney, resplendent in tea gowns, had been given a lady‘s

day out, to shop to add to their bottom drawer trousseau, before setting off for India and their new lives.

This was the age of art nouveau, with its flowing, pretty designs mirroring nature, as a total art movement, from a whole building, down to jewellery, jewellery boxes, and ceramics.

Gone was the heavy jewellery of their parents, replaced by such delicate work as Plique-à-jour

(French for open to light), where enamel made of melted glass was applied to wires and delicate sheets of gold and silver, that had been pierced and sawed, so leaving empty spaces to apply the gen-

tly pastel coloured enamel, almost like a miniature version of stained glass. The barouche open carriage was driven by St. John-Smythe‘s brother‘s driver and each shop added

to the lock box, carefully wrapped velveteen lined and silk beribboned boxes from the best shops in

Trentby. The first had been a shop full of the most up to date, daring porcelain.

‗What do you think, Julia? A bit too modern?‘ Amelia examined the French Limoges whitest porcelain gravy sauce boat and tray, enamelled with

cool colours of the ocean in pastel turquoise, green and pink of coral and gold filigree lines like the flash of sun on the waves, depicting a flowing handle carved as a seashell morphed into a gold en-hanced leaping fish, with gold leaf painted on the rim of the tray and foot and lip of the gravy sauce

boat. ‗I think, Julia, it is very apt as we‘re going on a sea voyage.‘

The next shop held jewellery and boxes to hold them. ‗These daring designs will add to our modern fashionable gowns, don‘t you think Julia?‘

Amelia‘s eyes alighted on a dragonfly brooch ‗This is most fashionable, Madam. The pretty brooch is of multi-shade plique-à-jour enamel, with

single-cut diamond wings and the dragonfly‘s body of diamonds and a ruby.‘

‗Oh isn‘t this pretty Amelia?‘ Julia picked up a pendant that also could serve as a brooch, designed as a bust of a serene-faced

lady with flowing golden hair, a pretty embroidered tunic and an elaborate headdress. ‗Madam, this is most lovely. Her face and hair are made of carved translucent white chalcedony, ap-

plied with plique-à-jour enamel of gold and green, with a hat in a polished and shaped ruby and sus-

pended from the tunic‘s waist a gold chain drop with circular-cut rubies, circular-cut and rose dia-monds, and a pearl at its end. Most modern in the art nouveau style. Shall I wrap this for, Madam?‘

‗Yes indeed.‘ ‗Oh there is one for me Julia, isn‘t this pretty?‘

‗This beautiful gold chain necklace, Madam, is spaced with opal and faceted rock crystal beads, and has extra opal and rock crystal bead link to be used also as a brooch. The pendant design of the bust of the beautiful lady with flowing tresses is in gold, holding an enamel white lily, and the chain drop

suspends a rose-cut diamond and a creamy white pearl. Shall I wrap this for you, Madam.‘ ‗Oh yes please.‘

‗Oh Julia, this vanity / dresser box has Gibson Girls on the front in modern sporting attire. How dar-ing is that?‘

‗Yes Madam. This vanity dresser is a jewellery and comb brush set in the shape of a miniature cup-board dresser. The dome top lifts up and permits the front doors to come apart between the ladies‘ portraits, framed by gold curving vines and flowers, and fold fully back. As you can see, both the inside

of the doors and the back have mirrors, The dresser is lined in the best green silk with velvet at the bottom. Is not the gentle painting of vines with their pretty little pink flowers flanked by pastel green

leaves, over the box, a worthy addition to your dressing table? The dome top lid holds upon it a re-minder of a sweet English country cottage by a stream, for you.‘

‗Is this your only one, asked Julia?‘

‗No Madam, there is another.‘ ‗Oh good, or we would have had a tussle over it, Amelia.‘

The two girls chuckled.

By mid-morning, the two ladies were beginning to flag, after raiding the best shops for summer

hats and gowns for various times of day, in the hot climate of India. So they went to the tea shop for a light meal and tea, asking for Assam tea to taste St. John-

Smythe‘s type of tea grown. ‗Now we have the jewellery for the departure ball on Friday evening, but need a fashionable ball

gown of real art nouveau standing. No old fashioned lines, Amelia.‘ ‗We have no time left, Julia, to go to the dressmakers.‘ ‗Oh we can get something I‘m sure, already made up from a fashion show, altered in time for us,

Amelia.‘ They went to the best fashion house in Trentby, and tried to match the jewellery to a ball gown.

Julia came across a gold beige velvet ball gown with fitted bodice and leg-o-mutton creamy brown short sleeves flanked in gold beige, with the low cut made less daring with creamy gold lace over the top of the dress flanked with brown holding gold embroidery of pretty little flower motifs. Suspended

from the high waist on the dress were two lines of brown and gold embroidery. Amelia chose a gown, low cut with yellow lace and short sleeves, of yellow silk taffeta and silk

chiffon, with black lines of embroidery over the fitted bodice, an embroidered black bow at the base of the dress and descending along the outer parts of the dress black embroidery in the shape of a

ribbon, from which were silk pink roses. Amelia and Julia looked at each other in their ball gowns, and Julia said the obvious, ‗We will cer-

tainly get noticed, Amelia.‘

‗Yes Julia, and the great thing is that we can use them again in India, for our own balls, as well as on the ship to dine with the captain.‘

‗Now we must go along the coast and enjoy one last paddle in the English sea, before going far into the jungles of India, Amelia.‘

‗Yes indeed, Julia.‘

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Badedragter_for_damer.jpg

The Girls on a Day Out

Ye Olde Magick ACW

Cystic Peg could not believe her eyes as the crystal circle of quartz clear crystal, Rose Quartz, gold flecked blue Lapis Lazuli and moonstone was lit from the big clear quartz in the centre of the circle, re-

flecting the bright sun‘s rays‘ white light, in an explosion of rainbow hues. Chinese music wafted from nowhere and visions arose of a palace filled with oriental ornaments of

gold and jade, set on a high hill above terraced rice paddy fields. In the great court of the palace were empty round plinths in alcoves lining the walls, and one round

plinth in an alcove in the centre of the rectangle court‘s top wall, with an empty circular marble plinth

in the room‘s centre. The vision faded to darkness, then a short flash of a series of images of the hotel where many of the

performers at the Winter Gardens were staying, then a snapshot in luxury hotel rooms of serene smil-ing Sankarat statues set on furniture, until one seen in a room that held a black walnut and brass cor-ner cabinet.

Then a fade to a vision of the local café‘s sign, Yellow Idol, and then its foyer holding a yellow jade Sankarat.

She gave a startled cry, ‗What!‘ As the room about her went from solid, to shimmering into layers of coloured light. She moved her

hand, that was also layers of colours, and her hand merged through furniture, themselves no longer solid but a series of coloured layers, that changed as colour met colour of her hand.

Inside a cupboard rarely used was a shape of another statue that a voice without a body told her

was a jade Dragon Boat depicted carrying the eight immortals, saints of ancient China born in the Tang dynasty, and she saw was the lucky Feng Shui number of eight granting good fortune, and the voice

seemed to come from one of the female immortals, carrying a basket of flowers that from Cystic Peg's memory was the immortal that brought luck to young women. The boat was made for the Emperor and

had vanished from this private collection. The visions faded and the room became solid as the light faded between and through the crystals.

The last impression she had was of a dragon shaped boat in the hands of an exquisitely beautiful Chi-

nese woman with long painted nails.

The Busy Night ACW Having sneaked in and gained a wax copy of either side of the master keys to the luxury rooms in

the hotel, Petrie had, no questions asked, gained copies for a small consideration, for this prolific tea leaf, loving nicking antiques and objects d‘art in his long nefarious career learned through generations.

In the wee hours, Petrie‘s silent tread went unheard, as did his soft turn of rooms‘ locks. The round of drinks in The Crocodile Inn for Peter the Porter and George the Valet to the Maharajah had well paid

off. Rippling, the diamond dealer, had put the word out on the street of a no-questions-asked sourcing

of Sankarat statuettes: it was a stroke of luck to find several all in one place for easier nicking than

from an auction house or pawn shop. And a couple of men totting a steamer trunk out the servant‘s back entrance of a hotel and loading it onto a horse drawn cart, would not get a second glance.

The Awakening ACW Cystic Peg went to sleep most pleased the crystals, the red jade Sankarat statue and now the sight-

ing of green jade dragon boat holding the eight immortals had drawn out of her the training about eso-

teric beliefs growing in England and ancient Buddhist teachings studied by philosophers in the colo-nies.

The red jade Sankarat, crystals and light played on them made my theatre show more dramatic, she mused, as she dropped off to sleep, with the thoughts of a stolen dragon boat weighing heavy on her mind. As she slipped into the twilight world between sleep and awake, she recalled her old mum had

liked to collect oriental bric-a-brac. She then could see herself asleep below her from the ceiling.

‗Oh my, now astral out of body travel as well,‘ she mused in a barely asleep napping. Then deep slumber yet she was awake up in the ceiling seeing herself so far gone as to be uproariously snoring.

With the candles all snuffed out and the lantern wick turned down and blown out, the room should have

been in total darkness, as the street gas lamps were out in the weak hours. But an ethereal light glowed from the cupboard, illuminating the room in a dim light, which yet lit up

the whole bedroom. In the astral plane was the weird intuition of reaching out to everywhere at once, like a touch on water goes out peaks and troughs of a concentric circular wave in all directions.

But something was disturbing the smoothness of the circle and a growing roar began to snarl from the dragon boat, that began to look more and more as coming to life as a writhing enraged dragon.

Then she felt evil emotion that made her shudder and she swooped down to the safety of the tiger‘s

eye crystal, scooping it up into her astral hand. ‗The red jade Sankarat, it‘s gone,‘ she cried to herself. She looked into the buffet to no avail.

Her intuition then drew her into darkness, then realised she was in the hotel, drawn up the stairs to the fancy posh floor, to see down from the ceiling a man nervously hiding in the shadows of the hall-way, stood by an empty steamer trunk, with its lid propped open.

Inside was her red jade Sankarat poking out of a velveteen cloth and a statue that Cystic Peg recog-nised as a female Sankarat.

Just then a man crept out of a room carrying yet another female Sankarat, this one a Saviour-Goddess and put that into the steamer trunk. This thief in the night crept from specific room to room,

missing others, using his own key, fetching out a series of male Sankarat statues, whilst the man by the steamer trunk wrapped them up in velveteen cushion throws, very Indian in design.

Until finally she was drawn into a suite where she had seen in her vision a corner cabinet, but this

time it was missing and in the corner was a three legged occasional table holding what she knew was a future Sankarat deity depicted as usual sat waiting on his throne for his forthcoming return once the

faithful had passed. As the man left the room, to her astonishment the room lit up and the corner cabinet re-appeared in

front of the small table that had held the future predicting Sankarat. And out of the corner cabinet strode out men and a woman of oriental appearance, from a cabinet that outside was barely enough height and depth to hold one man. She felt herself then drawn down the stairs to the back of the hotel,

to an open door that was obviously, the servant‘s entrance, to see the two men load the steamer trunk onto the back of a cart drawn by a draught horse.

Out in the yard in the shadows yet unseen by the men was a woman returning from the glory hole outhouse carrying a empty chamberpot. She stood rooted to the spot, muttering, ‗What‘s George up to, the rascal?‘

Cystic Peg‘s astral form floated through the dark skies of the town‘s smoky air of night, following the men on the horse drawn cart, who kept to back alleys, with the poor old mare‘s hooves all tied up with

straw filled sacking, so her metal horse shoes did not ring out on the cobbled lanes. The cart drew up in the rubbish yard at the back of the Yellow Idol café.

As one man, the same as stood by the steamer trunk in the hotel, held the horse‘s head, the other took a cutter that easily cut through glass, taking out a section of glass from a wrought iron lattice work in the door‘s window pane.

It then took no time to turn the key inside the lock and gain entry. Very soon the man returned carrying something wrapped up in a tablecloth, that as he was putting it

into the steamer trunk, slid down and revealed the head and shoulders of a yellow jade Sankarat, before being hurriedly wrapped back up.

Off this pair of reprobates went on their busy nefarious way until they arrived at the back of a pawn shop where there were living quarters, of a bijou gallery kitchen, a small living room with an open grate fire, before which was an high winged armchair, a couple of cheap chairs by a table and single fold-up

army bed with straw tick mattress and folded up sheets, blankets and pillow in one pile at its head. The Sankarats held in the steamer trunk were taken down into the basement, a dark cellar that held

the coal hole at one end and the other an old chest into which the steamer trunk was placed, then cov-ered over with firewood.

There was a shudder then a rattling as coal and chest began to dance about as if being slid about by

a little earthquake, as felt above mine workings. A moan from unseen lips groaned from nowhere. ‗We are cursed, doomed,‘ wailed the accomplice.

‗Oh stop being so melodramatic, you‘ve been Valet to that Indian Maharajah too long, George.‘ But both men hurried away into the night.

The Conflab ACW

Cystic Peg felt powerful evil energies and sped away in her astral form, only to catch a faint glimpse of a similar corner cabinet to that in the hotel suite that had held the Sankarat, in the corri-

dor connecting the back door of the pawn shop to the rear living quarters. The two men were trotting on making good time, now with the draught mare freed from the sack-

ing covering her hooves. Until they reached The Foaming Flagon Inn near the docklands, a tavern closed against the night in these wee hours just before dawn.

The mare was stabled with her feed straw bag and the men went in the back of the Inn, to which

the thief with light feet and even lighter fingers, had a key to enter the tavern. Soon other men came to join these two in flagons of beer in a back smoking room. She knew

none but she could hear talk of Sankarats and money, back and forth between them. Until deals were made and shook hands upon.

A snarl from unseen beast‘s maw, was heard by all the men gathered around the tavern table.

Who she had learned from overhearing the thief, was called George, the Indian Maharajah‘s Valet, whined, ‗We‘re doomed, Petrie, all doomed.‘

‗Now none of this nonsense, it‘s some stray mongrel dog, cried the thief Petrie,‘ and the others agreed. The Valet‘s eyes widened in growing terror, his fear not assuaged in the least.

The Wages Of Sin Are Death ACW

After the deal had been struck, the men went their separate ways, having arranged for the Sankarat statues to be delivered and payment exchanged in an old house, now overgrown, beyond

the park in the suburbs of Trentby. A house of an eccentric, who had been much taken with the orient in architecture and statuary in

home and garden, and who had mysteriously disappeared many years ago. George dropped off Petrie at his lodgings at the back of the pawn shop, from off his pony and

trap. Petrie, much pleased with his successful night, whistled happily as he set the kettle on the

stove for his night cap tea. But then rattling sounds rose in crescendo from the basement below, higher and higher.

From the grate the logs spluttered and coals began to burn white hot, until Petrie saw flames writhe like he had seen water spouts whip up to the sky at sea. A roar split the stillness and a great maw surged towards him, spitting flame.

Stillness returned. The armchair at which he sat was unsinged, but all that remained of Petrie was his leather ankle

boots.

The Root Of All Evil ACW Cystic Peg felt compelled to follow the men in their carriage, as it had been their lust for ill gotten

gains that had caused the Sankarats to be taken. Small talk between passengers and driver informed her they were guests at the same hotel as the

victims of the thievery. And that they chuckled they could sell them on for a fortune to those who would pack them up for none to see but them in far off lands, on the steamer to India in but a few

days. But as the two horses drew close to The Crocodile Inn, they shied then whinnied showing the

whites of their eyes in rearing terror. The driver held on for all his might, but the bays would have

none of it, taking the bit between their teeth in crazed flight. The men in the open carriage clung on to the wildly rocking carriage, doors flying open. The pas-

sengers sprang from the carriage, falling in a heap on old sacking by upturned hand carts. But their luck did not hold. Winded by the fall, with legs cracked or strained, the men laid helpless on the ground. A deep

rumble then was heard and a swish of a long tail and the men faced their awful fate. Dragged down into the sewers and out under the sea waters of the dock, drowned by the twisting great crocodiles.

The Curse‘s Revenge ACW

The driver, up on the carriage high seat, had no chance to jump free and so tried vainly to pull

back on the reins to no avail. The horse thundered on, sparks flying from

hooves, out of Trentby until winding lanes of parkland slowed them enough for the driver to regain control. The carriage came to a halt as the

winded, steaming horse could run no more, their head hung low.

Cystic Peg could see that just beyond the trees from this wide park pathway was an abandoned house that looked more like a Pagoda temple,

which she recognised as the symbol of complete victory.

The driver alighted and tied the horse to a tether-ing post and sat on the grass. A noise made him

turn to look behind him and the bright first dawn light showed him the house that had been spoken of. He stood up and made his way out of curiosity

to before the house, to where the stated meeting point had been agreed, by a statue of a rearing

dragon. As the sun‘s morning light began to light the dragon, he saw its yellow colour brighten.

‗By the heck, it‘s covered in gold leaf paint and yellow jade.‘ Cystic Peg suddenly felt a dread foreboding and turned away. When she looked again there was no

sign of the driver but a singed hand holding a horse‘s whip, lain on the plinth holding the dragon

statue, now no longer to be seen. Then she realised, all the men in this foul conspiracy were no longer in the land of the living.

All For Nothing ACW

George, the Anglo Indian who was the Valet of Maharajah Loovinda, came upon Peter the Porter in the hotel hallway during their morning duties.

‗Oh right. Well. The morning cleaners tell me that daft Petrie must‘ve got too near the fire, maybe drunk or sommat, and burnt up. The pawn shop bloke found only Petrie‘s feet left of him in his boots. He went down the basement for coal for his morning fire and found the firewood chest open, empty

and firewood just scattered about.‘ And then Peter whispered close to George‘s ear, ‗Where‘s the stash then?‘

‗It‘s all gone, we‘ll not see hide nor hair of it again. It were cursed, it were, all cursed.‘ ‗And where‘s the barouche open carriage arranged for them from the livery stables?‘

A maid passing overheard, ‗Oh right, I wondered what that good class carriage without a driver was doing tethered in the park early this morning on me way in from the farm. No-one was about.‘

Peter nonchalantly brushed aside this observation, ‗Oh right you are, girl. I‘ll arrange for the livery

stable to collect ‗em.‘ Peter then went to reception and informed, ‗Looks like some more of our guests have done a mid-

night flit and not paid the hotel bill, Mr Bluddschott.‘ Basil told Peter the Porter, ‗Fetch any stuff they‘ve left and take it the auction house right away.‘ ‗Right you are Guv‘nor.‘

Peter went into each room but found no Sankarats in either of them, just their personal effects but not a penny in cash, nor so much as a fob pocket watch.

Is there for honesty poverty

That hings his head, an' a' that; The coward slave - we pass him by,

We dare be poor for a' that! For a' that, an' a' that,

Our toils obscure an' a' that, The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that.

What though on hamely fare we dine,

Wear hoddin grey, an' a' that? Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, A man's a man for a' that.

For a' that, an' a' that, Their tinsel show, an' a' that,

The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie ca'd a lord, Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that;

Tho' hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that.

For a' that, an' a' that, His ribband, star, an' a' that,

The man o' independent mind He looks an' laughs at a' that.

A price can mak a belted knight, A marquise, duke, an' a' that;

But an honest man's aboon his might, Gude faith, he maunna fa' that! For a' that, an' a' that,

Their dignities an' a' that, The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth,

Are higher rank than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may, (As come it will for a' that,) That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth,

Shall bear the gree, an' a' that. For a' that, an' a' that,

That man to man, the world o'er, Shall brithers be for a' that.

Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,

The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth; Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,

The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; A-chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,

My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow; Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;

Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods; Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;

My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; A-chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

Robert Burns 5 January 1759 – 21 July 1796) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Burns

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-humber-30718727

Victorian Curry article ... Yorkshire style with dripping and milk ...

Comment: Oh for pork dripping lathered on doorstep toast with salt ...

memories of childhood ... along with condensed milk butties, pancakes,

mushy peas and chips with everything ... Happy days ...

http://

www.barefiction

magazine.co.uk/

competitions/

This was read out on Radio Humberside - there is a new campaign aimed at women being active/exercising etc.

Netball or knitting,

swimming or sew,

time on my hands,

where should I go?

Drawing or dancing,

writing or row,

get up from my back-side,

and ready to show - -

how to shoot goal,

or back up my team,

swim across the pool,

or perform a routine.

Tho’ saddled with problems,

mobility poor,

I love to keep busy,

open my door!

Come watch my attempts

to stay on the move.

crawling builds muscles,

arm swings help to prove

that even stretching the neck

helps to keep you in shape

but I’ll never be first

at crossing the tape.

Last week I watched a TV special about ‘Diversity’, the dance group who once won Britain’s Got Talent. They showed a clip about the English

National Ballet holding classes to help people with Parkinson’s to Dance - as a way of encouraging/helping mobility and exercise and I found it very inspiring.

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