Issue 386 8th May 2015

Where do you

go to have adventures? Do you inflict your

holiday snaps on family?

Why not share them with people who

might be interested? ...

Loch Lomond

April 2015

2

FLASH FICTION: Random Words: same as last week

Assignment: All in the mind

Bored? COME to WORKSHOP ... Every Monday 1.30 start Rising Brook Library

NOT 18th May — 10th Anniversary Lunch

www.issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

Welcome to ROB ROY country ...

Robert Roy MacGregor (Scottish Gaelic: Raibeart Ruadh MacGriogair;

baptised 7 March 1671 – 28 December 1734), usually known simply as

Rob Roy, was a famous Scottish folk hero and outlaw of the early 18th

century, who is sometimes known as the Scottish Robin Hood.

Rob Roy was born at Glengyle, at the head of Loch Katrine, as recorded

in the baptismal register of Buchanan Parish. His father was Donald Mac-

Gregor and his mother Margaret Campbell. In January 1693, at Corrie

Arklet farm near Inversnaid, he married

Mary Helen MacGregor of Comar (1671-1745)

Afar from the madding crowd (travel) blog ... SMS

No-one who knows me would ever put me for-ward for a Bear Grylls type programme. Camping

and outdoor pursuits not my thing at all ...

So when I discovered the way to go to and from the hotel was by a ferry across the loch I had

doubts that they had the likes of a nesh old softy like me in mind for this particular adventure ... especially when the loch was a bit lively with

choppy waves and whistling winds ... Fortunately, there was a ‘high road**’ which was

a seat of the pants ride with some hairy

moments ... but with glimpses of wild goats and deer amongst the birch trees which was

a huge bonus.

Loch Lomond in the Trossachs National Park was spectacular. The picture with the pipes running

down the mountain is a hydro-electric plant.

The waterfall which tumbles into the loch at the side of the hotel grew and grew with the rainfall

from the mountains and was so soporific it

rumbled me off to sleep like a baby. I won’t bore you with details of my porridge,

scones, shortbread and haggis diet not to men-tion whisky tasting opportunities and more wool shops than was strictly necessary, sufficient to

say it was fun and I learnt when it comes to ferries I’m braver than I thought I was.

Well, when there are people in their 90s doing

the same thing without batting an eyelid I thought I should give it a go ...

** Something I was told about that song: I’ll take the High Road and you take the Low Road ...

Apparently it was about prisoners after a battle choosing who should be hanged

(taking the High Road) not a jolly singsong at all.

Rising Brook Allotment Association

We have plots up for rent at the mo-

ment. Half and full plots with water

shed and use of toilets and tea room.

We have events on site for gardeners

and families like BBQ, bonfire night

etc.

I am trying to keep up with the Face-

book page at the moment but if you

want to put in information about the

plots that would be great we have a

lady on site who lets the plots so

anyone interested can post their

names on our Facebook page and we

will get in touch.

RBAA Secretary

BLUE ROSES Rudyard Kipling

Roses red and roses white Plucked I for my love's delight. She would none of all my posies-- Bade me gather her blue roses.

Half the world I wandered through, Seeking where such flowers grew.

Half the world unto my quest Answered me with laugh and jest.

Home I came at wintertide, But my silly love had died Seeking with her latest breath Roses from the arms of Death.

It may be beyond the grave She shall find what she would have.

Mine was but an idle quest-- Roses white and red are best!

7

Gardening Tips for May ... Frances Hartley

There’s a little verse I always think of when Spring arrives; - “Spring is sprung, the

grass is ris, I wonder where the birdies is?” This year Spring seems to have come

late and the birds have been very busy for the last few weeks filling their beaks

with as much straw like bits as possible for their nests. I know most of the Spring

bulbs were very late flowering this year, but the Summer flowering ones will catch

up. However, in your haste to get planting don’t cut the leaves off the Spring bulbs

too early as it will stop them from flowering next year altogether. I usually let the

leaves go brown when they will easily pull off at the same time as you are doing

other dead heading and general tidying up and then all the rubbish will go on the

compost heap together.

Greenhouses should be getting more space in them as some of the hardier plug

vegetables such as Beetroot and Brussels, along with flowering plants such as

Sweet Peas and over wintering Chrysathemum stools can be planted out now. This

will make room for transplanting indoor crop plants like Tomatoes and Cucumbers

into large pots before they go in their final growing positions – to be grown, as ei-

ther “Ring Culture,” or in Growbags. Yellow sticky cards should be hung up in the

greenhouse to catch any Aphids that may have hibernated during the winter, be-

cause they do love young tomato plants! With Cucumbers the “All female,” plants

are the best type to grow as other varieties can result in bitter cucumbers if the male

flowers are left on by mistake and the female flowers get pollinated. Cucumbers

should be planted as far from the door as possible because they don’t like draughts.

In small greenhouses it is best to drop a sheet of polythene down in front of them to

keep off draughts and damp the floor down regularly as well because they must

also have humid conditions.

If you still have room in your greenhouse, hanging baskets and pots can be planted

up to get them established before they are ready to go out at the end of May when

all risk of frost should really have gone. If you have any trays, or pots of bedding

plants waiting to go out, you can stand them against the house wall on the warmest

side, to make more space in your greenhouse. However, I keep a piece of horticul-

tural fleece handy and if a night frost is forecast, drop the fleece lightly over the

plants putting bricks, or stones on its edge to hold it down. By the way there are

different grades of fleece around these days, but they can all be washed gently and

will last at least 2 or 3 years.

Nearly everybody sows the whole packet of seeds when it is opened and then does-

n’t know what to do with all the plants, but there is no need to use all of the packet

at once as most vegetable and flower seeds will keep easily for 2, or 3 years and

Tomatoes will keep for 4, or 5 years. Germination rates will decline the longer a

packet has been opened, but you can help prevent this by carefully folding the top

of the packet down gently, expressing the air out and then resealing the packet with

some tape before storing it in a cool, dry place such as a tin in a garage. For those

being asked what gardening gift they want for their birthday, etc, some of the gar-

den centres are now selling fancy, “Gardeners seed tins!”

That’s all for now. Cheerio. Frances Hartley

SHORT STORY, TIME AND TIDE 1920 W/C Michelle Draper

Parallels of Time

To begin with, it looked to be an ordinary house, one that you could perhaps label your home, or the home of a friend or relative. It’s situated in a rather, quiet, ordinary street that sat in the middle of an ordinary estate. Each

row of houses stood symmetrical, and identical in size and build, quite the expected when you look at the pearly neighbourhood of picturesque order and manner. Each of the front gardens were sheltered by a tidy, cut-back bush that shadowed green in it’s full bloom, hiding the squared, fair sized lawns that looked to each be well kept

and mowed to lined perfection. Flower beds surrounded the lawns creating a colourful border with pretty, red and yellow tulips scattering in the soil, growing far up towards the sunlight, reaching high its heat and light.

Creeper climbed up along the walls of each house neatly, and the front doors all bared the same, ocean colour blue painted wood. Cars were parked in a slightly more cluttered manner in the street, sloping along the curbs and paving, one or two parked along an out-stretched grassed area leaving behind faint tyre marks as the

weight indented the soil below the green. Outside of each house stood a black lamppost in waiting to light up as each night time arrived, and a cold darkness fell over the sleeping street.

However, one particular house seemed to be standing out, almost immediately its differences became a clear seeing as ones eyes wandered over the cream walls of the homely building. Deep, red roses grew under-neath the window ledge, gleaming in the evening sun, making this house look much lovelier than all of the oth-

ers. You could see how much care and attention had been put into this home and garden. The lawn housed a beautiful stone water fountain, right in the centre of the grass . . . an angel. Water gushed out as a clear, spar-kling flow, and the base was littered with a few pretty little flowers creating further bursts of colour. It was a

dear little garden idyllic and beautiful. Janey had no recollection of how she came about to be standing outside of this particular home. She had-

n’t been here before, that she was certain of. It stood looking so beautiful, yet awfully unfamiliar in every way possible. She had at that particular moment, found herself standing on the garden path, looking idly on at its stunning beauty. She hadn’t seen a house quite like it before, however, she could not express her opinion on

such a statement. She couldn’t pinpoint its fortunate looks. Many other thousands of homes were also well kept and and looked after to exceptional perfection. There was a pull in the air around her body that had brought her

to this spot, and she was physically unable to to turn her back and walk away home. Something had, indeed, brought her here for a reason, and she looked on for a further moment, and wondered why. Against her own will, it was almost like a dream as her feet, of their own accord, began to walk into the

strangers house! She couldn’t seem to stop herself. It was like she could see herself walking, through her own eyes, yet had no control over her movement. She could see everything through her minds eye and was fully able to observe the happenings and surrounding around her body. Her body was the force, and she was the soul.

As she opened the pretty, ocean blue door, she slipped back on her feet unexpectedly as thick, heavy smoke spilled out from the house, and a heat-wave of invisible hot air, knocked Janey off her feet. As quickly as this

happened, the quiet street was suddenly filled with the sound of a fire alarm beeping frantically in warning. The intense beauty and colour of the house quickly shifted into a dark, unbearably hot area that signaled danger and death. The smoke had filled the entire hallway and poured out into the street, polluting the early evening air. It

was so heavy that Janey couldn’t see into the house alt all. All she could do was follow basic instinct and get down low to her hands and knees, and crawl beneath the smoke, where slightly more breathable air was lurking

under the dark cover. The heat was less intense towards the floor. She crawled along the hallway, still not able to control her actions, yet her mind screamed out to turn back and get out of danger! She couldn’t stop her body sliding across the floor, crawling ever deeper into the heavier, black smoke and far more humid heat. Her

heart was without a doubt pounding hard against her chest as she heard a frantic screaming, sounding like that of a young child. It was coming from above her, she was sure, and she feared that a child was trapped upstairs. It was from there that the smoke was coming from and the fear for the child hit Janey like a ton of bricks. She

had to find the stairs! The screams began to echo all around her, just as the heavy, smoky air made Janey feel weak, and very

frightened. Her skin tingled with fright at the possibility that a child was trapped beyond her reach. She contin-ued on, crawled forward as quickly as she could and kept her head down low, and her arms stretched out as far as possible. She tried to feel the floor for anything in front of her, the carpet feeling hotter the more she moved

ahead. Eventually, she found the bottom step of the staircase. She listened to the wailing of the child, and real-ised that there was more than one cry coming from above. The very idea of two children, trapped in a fire,

made Janey feel sick to her stomach. The heat of the flames, that were now directly above Janey, smothered her skin as she clawed her way up each step with a great difficulty. She could feel her body slowly suffocating.

Her chest was tight as smoke filled her lungs. She tried desperately to keep her breath, but with each inhalation

came prolonged coughing and burning of the throat. The screaming and wailing continued on, getting louder the closer Janey got to the landing. She could see

the flames now, massive orange streaks of fire spreading across the ceiling, and somewhere, the children were stuck. She knew that she needed to get to them as it became apparent that they were depending only on her to reach them,. now she knew why she was here . . . she needed to be the strength to see these children through

the trauma of the house fire, to save them. She had gotten to the landing, and most rooms were engulfed with flames as they ate out the entire area with their hot tongues, binging on every piece of furniture, material and decoration until only the charred, hollow shell would be left. There was no place for Janey to go, so she slipped

into the nearest room and managed to close the door behind her. What greeted Janey confused her greatly. No longer hearing the loud, fire alarm, or feeling her skin

smother in the intense heat, flames close to her body and her being drowned in smoke. She saw that she was in a brightly lit room littered with furniture and floral wallpaper, and the evening sunshine could be seen through a large, bay window directly opposite her. A young woman, sat at her dresser that had much make up and lotions

scattered on the table top, lids off some and spills here and there. The lady was doing her hair whilst smiling at her reflection in the mirror she was looking through. Straightening her hair with heated tongues, she absent

mindedly put them down and forgot to turn them off. She stood up and walked across the room to a playpen, where two toddlers were smiling at the lady, as she went to them giving each a loving kiss on the forehead. She proceeded to hand each of them a teddy bear to play with then went to leave the room, stating she wouldn’t be

long and would be back soon. Almost immediately, the hair straighteners began to smoke before catching fire as the appliance had carelessly been left unattended. The room soon became engulfed in large flames, and the two

children began to scream as the hot fire headed quickly towards them. Janey shut her eyes tightly as she listened to their cries of fright and pain. She couldn’t bear the sound. When she opened her eyes, the playpen had been burned out and the the cries had ended. A deep, heart-wrenching feeling sank inside Janey as she realised the

two children had been burned alive because of the mother’s irresponsibility and forgetfulness, and neglect as she left her two children in the house all alone. It was all too much to comprehend. Janey scrambled back out into the landing to make an attempt of getting down the stairs and out of the

burning house. When she opened the door, the same smoke trapped her airway and the noise of the flames and the fire alarm was almost deafening. She tried to find her way out when., there standing before her, were the two

toddlers holding hands, and the expression of sadness and pain was evident across their little faces. It seemed incredibly torturous to think of those poor children being left in such a way and having no defence in them to es-cape. They looked innocent, and lost. Janey saw the mother appear before her also, she was set apart from her

two children, beautifully made up with her make up and her hair, all that had been important to her, had been her vanity. The woman looked directly at Janey, her expression that of guilt, and anger. As she stared, the sur-

roundings altered from being a danger zone. The landing changing into that of a room, well decorated, lit with candles and beautiful music playing in the background. There were curtains and crystal hangings, pictures and portraits littered the walls. And the table in front of Janey held tarot cards and a crystal ball. Janey looked up and

saw that the woman sitting opposite her, was the same woman who had been at that house, now she was here holding Janey’s hands, smiling excitedly. Janey then realised she had seen what the woman would do at some point in the future. She would kill her children! Unable to speak, not able to say a word about what she had seen,

the clairvoyant sat in a stunned silence, and the heavily pregnant lady before her smiled graciously at Janey in expectance, and patted her hands encouragingly.

‘Is it going to be a boy? I so want a boy,’ she gushed. Janey stayed quiet as the image of those two chil-dren in death stayed in her line of vision, and the cries still echoed around her head as if she was still there in front of them, unable to save them. The parallels of time told the future and showed the ill-fate of this family, and

she could only hope that the premonition was fraud. She quietly prayed for her wrong minds-eye sight, as the ghosts of the future tormented her soul.

https://www.foe.co.uk/page/the

-bee-cause-act

There’s a brand new version of The Loop now playing on Radio Wildfire with tracks of spoken word and music from: Swiftly Lazarus; Linda Stitt; Dave Migman; Emma Purshouse; Dwane Reads; Lorna Meehan; Brendan Gallagher; Cynthia Morri-son; Superbard; Stephen Mead; Roy Macfarlane; and a play from the Bunbury Banter Theatre Company, written by Mi-chelle Powell – another great selection of stories, satires, poetry, spoken word, music, drama and interview playing 24/7 @ www.radiowildfire.com So join us and listen by going to www.radiowildfire.com and clicking on The Loop - and see the full playlist on the web-

site (and if you listen through one of the options other than the player on our website beware that some of the meta data has become mis-assigned, so some names displayed may show incorrectly). We’ll be transmitting our live show as usual at 8:00pm on Monday 4th May and will be sending out the details of the show

that morning. In the meantime, whether there is a Public Holiday for May Day where you are, or not, have a good weekend and enjoy The Loop. You can upload soundfiles of your own work to the 'Submit' page of the Radio Wildfire website. Mp3s are our preferred

format. You can also ensure you always get reminders of upcoming shows on Radio Wildfire by following us on Twitter. The Loop is curated by Vaughn Reeves and plays online continuously except during our live broadcast on Monday 4th May 2015 starting at 8.00pm UK time with a full programme of pre-recorded tracks, guest interviews and conversation. WHAT IS RADIO WILDFIRE? Radio Wildfire is an independent online radio station which blends spoken word, poetry, performance literature, comedy, storytelling, short stories and more with a novel selection of word/music fusion and an eclectic mix of musical styles. www.radiowildfire.com currently broadcasts live 8.00-10.00pm (UK time) on the first Monday of every month. Listen to Radio Wildfire at www.radiowildfire.com where The Loop plays 24 hours a day. Twitter @radiowildfire

(Publicity Release)

Latest Competitions: Poetry London Competition 2015 | Closing Date: 01-May-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1753 Welsh Poetry Competition 2015 | Closing Date: 31-May-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1750 Munster Literature Centre Competition | Closing Date: 31-May-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1752

Pacuare Nature Reserve 2015 Wildlife Poetry Competition | Closing Date: 10-Jun-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1749

New Magazines: Junction Box http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/magazines/emagazines/?id=752

Allegro Poetry Magazine http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/magazines/emagazines/?id=750

Latest News: Poetry Magazines Received in April 2015 | 30-Apr-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/library/?id=1328 #Afterhours Blog 10 | 16-Apr-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/library/?id=1322

Ticking There it is Tick tick tick In my head I'm getting sick Someone enters My house tonight They slam the door I jump in fright Tick tick tick It isn’t stopping In my head Something's coming I check the house I'm all alone There is nobody Inside my home Tick tick tick Footsteps walking I hear the faintness Of voices talking Slamming doors Feet walking quick It's in my head Tick tick tick Now I know That I am sick I'm all alone Tick tick tick

Refugees

A tale of Pharonic Egypt Circa 1250 BCP under Tuthmose II

Clive Hewitt

Chapter 1 Escape from the tomb

From the sounds drifting down the passage Anep knew that the other lads on the work gang were sealing the entrance. He gave a desperate shout and hurled himself out of the closing gap, knocking Josip and Mesab to the floor, but he was safe and in the open air.

“Anep? What were you doing in there?” Moab, the over-man, was walking across the site to see that the final stone was correctly in place. “We damned nearly sealed you in. What were you thinking about?”

“I was doing a final check, of course, Moab. Just like the overseer told me too. Didn't Dees, the under-priest tell you about it?”

“Under priest? What under priest? There hasn't been any of them around here today, has there lads?”

The universal shaking of heads told Anep the story. The whole story, and it wasn't one that he wanted to be a part of. He knew Dees, or rather his family, hated him for upsetting their plans for

Tao when she turned Dees down and married him instead. But arranging for him to be sealed in a tomb was taking things to an extreme.

Moab scurried around directing the lads getting the final stone into place and plastered over. “That's it lads! Job done, all we have to do now is go home and get a good night’s sleep. We'll party tomorrow night, down in the city, after the overseer has given us our last payments for the job.”

Anep shook his head as he said, “Fat chance of that Moab. If you go along with that plan you'll all be feeding the crocodiles!”

Josip and Mesab, the twins who always finished each other’s thoughts, turned and said, “You think he'll cheat us? I mean he's been good to us so far.”

“No lads, I don't think he'll cheat us. I think he'll have us all killed, probably tonight on the way home. Then, if it hasn't already happened, it'll be the same for our families. Think about it? This job has been so secret that we were allowed, actually ordered, to finish building the houses up here before we did anything else; there've been no traders or visitors allowed, all food and water found, women supplied for the unmarried, and never the same ones twice. Josip, Mesab, Ad, am I right there?”

Josip and Mesab nodded, Ad grunted something in agreement. They all knew he had a thing about fat women, and fat women had been supplied for him.

“Add onto that the stories about work gangs that have disappeared in the red-lands, and today's attempt to have me walled up in that tomb, and I don't like the way things are looking at all.”

“So what do we do then? We're stone masons, not soldiers,” Moab wanted to know. “We don't have any weapons, or shields, or armour or anything!” His voice ended in a wail.

Anep laughed at him. “We don't need to be. As for weapons, what do you think this is?“ He brandished a hammer, “We've got something better than any soldier or any back-alley murderer; we know the village, we know all the short cuts and back ways and ... we can use these better than any murdering knife-man can use a knife.

At twenty paces Josip can guarantee a hit every time he throws his hammer, and Mesab has a fancy way with a trowel,” that was an understatement; they'd all seen Mesab hit perching birds often enough. “Moab, have you got your sling with you?”

All three nodded agreement. “Another while and the night will hinder the murderers, but WE know our way about. What we need to do is get behind

them and make sure that they can't do anything to our families or us. Everybody with me? One thing, nobody, but nobody, goes home until all the murderers are caught or killed. Not even if it's just outside your own door.”

It was Moab who noted the change to the daily routine, “Where's the watchman? He should be here by now, where's that idle slave got too?”

Ab gave a hollow laugh and said, “If Anep's got it right that's something else they got wrong. They should have waited until later and got us to fill in the doorway before they tried to kill us, as for Moshe; he's not needed now, so he's probably dead.”

Moshe wasn't dead; a long way from it, but his assailant was in a difficult condition. “Thought he'd hit me over the head and forgot that I'd got a bundle of firewood over me back.” He stood over the man, kicking him in the head when he tried to move. “What's going on? This is the first time in a year I been molested and they was just robbers after your metal tools. This 'uns too well dressed to be one o' they.”

There was more than enough light for them to see that he was right; the clothes were the uniform of the Temple Guard. They explained about Anep and his idea.

Moshe, who didn't worship the same gods as the rest of the village, was taking no chances. He stripped the man, took

his sword and used it to cut his throat. “Just doing me job, lads, just doing me job. That's one less robber in the hills and I think his clothes will suit me very well.” He said as he dumped the body in a small gully just off the track.

“A good meal for the hyenas there,” he remarked as he rapidly changed into the uniform. “Now what happens after we've cleared the village of these uniformed scum? Where are you going to go?” It was noticeable that Moshe's speech had changed. Before he'd spoken in the usual street patios, now he spoke as an educated man, moreover as a man in authority.

“We've all got to get ourselves and our families away from here, a long way away from here, and in a hurry if we want to keep our throats uncut. I know people who can, if we make it worth their while, do that. Stay glued to me and we'll be out of this Temple's reach by dawn tomorrow, but it won't be easy.”

The track back to the village was short and, in places, steep but well kept; they had no problems in the gathering darkness.

Unexpectedly the twins, usually the gentlest of people, turned out to be the best killers amongst them. At the end of the evening, they threw six swords onto the pile by the fire outside the food store and a small pole-like something that only Moshe recognised.

“By all that's holy, where did that come from?” He asked them, “Did you take it from one of those cut-throats?” The twins nodded, “He had a really fancy hat on as well,” Josip added, “it didn't save him from my crowbar, but he did

squeal a lot when we asked him some questions. Anep was right, and he was wrong as well. This is a squabble be-tween temples; not, thank the gods, something that goes back to the Pharaoh. He claimed he was a Greatest of Fifty in the Army but was serving in the Temple Guard because he had been caught with the wife of the Garrison Troops Over-seer. We took his uniform and killed him afterwards.”

Moshe chuckled as he brandished the staff, “He was a liar as well. This is the staff of a Troop Commander and they definitely DO NOT get involved in Temple affairs. Oh well, that just puts even more fat on the fire.”

“Wives and families!” Anep reminded them. “We've got to get them out of here as soon as possible.” Anep walked into his house, took Tao, his wife, in his arms and told her. “Gather anything you must have to travel

fast and far. Don't bother about anything else we're fleeing for our lives!” Tao laughed at him as she said, “Fleeing for our lives! What are you on about husband? You've got to collect the rest

of your payment tomorrow then we go back to my parent’s village.” Anep wasn't in any mood to argue her down. “Tao, shut up and come with me! See for yourself,” he dragged her out-

side to see. The weapons and bodies in the village square silenced her and the other women. Moab was having trouble with his

Sek, his eldest son, who refused to believe the evidence of his eyes. It didn't take long before Moshe, now dressed in the officers uniform, lost patience with Sek and hit him hard across

the face, “Do as your father says, boy,” he screamed at him, “see this sword? It's good and sharp and will take your head off really well if I choose to do so.”

“Father! Are you going to let this ... this … slave speak to me like that? Mother won't like it at all.” Moab looked at him in disgust, “If he doesn't take your head off, I will!” He shoved the lad around and kicked his

backside in the right direction. “Now get your fat face back into the house and help your mother and sisters pack. No; you can get both of the asses saddled and ready and help load them. When you've done that you get yourself into some clothes and shoes for walking a long way, very fast.”

They left the village, ten men, five wives and eight children, theoretically heading in the direction of the great river. They headed away from the river, “They'll expect us to go that way so we have to go another way,” Moshe had told

them. “You're going to get hungry and thirsty today as well as being footsore and tired. There's a village I know about in the red-lands where we can get food and water, but it's a long day’s walk away.”

Sek started grumbling before they set off, “Why can't I ride one of the asses, they're only carrying household stuff and we can get more of that somewhere else.”

Most folks had forgotten that Moab could be really tough when he set his mind to it, and there was no arguing with him right now, he grabbed Sek by the ear and shook him, “I'm not your father,” he was told, “I just married your mother when she was widowed, and I'm sick and tired of you, your idleness, and her nagging. We're not stopping or slowing down for you, so keep up or die in the red-lands.”

They marched; walk was too kind a term, through the night, through most of the heat of the next day and into the early part of the next night. The rests where few, short and mainly in the heat of the day.

In the remote village they were welcomed by the inhabitants, who fed them and their beasts; then they collapsed into an exhausted sleep. Next day came too early as they set off in another long march; the only real difference was that their animals had been exchanged for rested ones in the village.

When asked how and why this was done so swiftly Moshe answered, “Smugglers caravan route. When the next cara-van comes along your beasts will go with them.”

He refused to explain how he knew; or how the smuggler-villagers were compensated. The next stop was at a tumbledown collection of riverside buildings; calling it a village was glorifying it, whose only

claim to continued existence was an ancient stone built pier. Here they rested in the remnants of a deserted, partly built or destroyed, temple and waited.

Anep found himself feeling weak, drowsy and lightheaded. Lying down to sleep didn't seem to be a good idea, until something hit him like a rock.

To be continued ...

Copyright Clive Hewitt June 2014 All rights reserved Except for the Pharaoh and one other character, all characters are fictitious. Picture Credit P. Shilston

The Tour de Yorkshire

We are counting down to Friday when the

Tour de Yorkshire starts,

Yorkshire folk will line the streets as cycle

race departs.

From Bridlington to Scarborough, from Selby

through to York

Wakefield to City of Leeds, all you’ll hear is

cycling talk.

Flags of blue and yellow fly on every post,

From market town to city, through countryside

from coast.

We put on a great show last year, praise was

loud and clear,

That Yorkshire can deliver and it will again

this year.

So wear a Yorkshire T Shirt, don a Yorkshire

cap,

Watch the cycling where you can, rely on

Yorkshire map

Bridlington is ready, all is set in place

To host the Tour de Yorkshire, at the begin-

ning of the race.

Bikes in Bridlington

The world is watching Bridlington, today,

the first of May.

The sun is shining on the sea all along the bay.

Forget the other pressing news, politicians

out of mind,

Today the tour de Yorkshire means to

anything else we’re blind.

The town of Brid is covered - in swags of

yellow and blue,

Bicycles are flying and the sheep are painted

too.

The mayor of Brid is bursting, bursting with

civic pride,

What is all the fuss about? It’s just a cycle

ride!

A crowd of ‘lycra –ed’ men sitting on their

bikes,

The tour de Yorkshire is much more, public

spirit and the likes.

Bridlington, the place to be, I wish I could

be there,

To see the decorations and the atmosphere

to share.

Go! Go! Go! Team Bridlington, without a

single doubt,

The eyes of the world are watching and will

see what Brid’s about.

My Old Bike

My bicycle is in the shed

rusty, buckled and sad.

Hanging there on a sturdy nail

my neglect has been so bad!

Saddle where my bum once sat

is wrecked beyond repair,

you’d think the way I’ve let it rot

I really do not care.

But I do! I do! I really do!

It means a lot you see,

because it was my pride and joy,

and my Dad gave it to me.

A huge surprise, I didn’t know

that Santa listened well,

and made my dad so secretive

with lies that he would tell!

No bike for me this Christmas time,

just a brother’s bike this year,

money tight and not enough,

I was pleading in deaf ear.

I’ll make it right and have it fixed

with basket and shiny bell

and though I’ve had it fifty years

nobody can tell.

That bike I love because it’s mine

My Dad gave it to me,

one wonderful Christmas morning,

I found it under the tree!

My Yorkshire Lin Priest

Have you ever been to Yorkshire on a bright and sunny day? I know that I am biased, but I really have to say, There’s no better place on earth, and I’ve been to quite a few, Yorkshire is the very best, well that’s my view!

I’ve been to the Grand Canyon which took my breath away And Las Vegas although I didn’t want to play. Savannah is beautiful, San Francisco is sublime, But nowhere beats Yorkshire if you listen to my rhyme.

English counties are pretty and London is fun, Visit Scotland and Wales, at their best in the sun, The Lakes are spectacular and the Peak District fine, But it’s to Yorkshire I return, great birthplace of mine!

Yorkshire Lin Priest

From the backbone of England in those Pennine Hills, To East Coast erosion or West Riding mills. From heather to turf, from river to mere, From caravan to cloister, we have it all here. People of silence with hearts strong as steel, Or those who give voice to just how they feel. A spade is a spade, an eye for an eye, Strong solid folk not ‘pie in the sky’! The miner and coalmen maybe things of the past, But not soon forgotten, their stories will last, The trawlers that faced strong waves like a wall, ……..or strange circumstance tragic loss of the Gaul. Fearsome and frightening, quiet and still, From crumbling coast to blustery hill. Wolds, moors and meadows, misty landscape at dawn, YORKSHIRE – my County, THE PLACE – I was born

Assignment: A cautionary tale by Ann Talbot Every day June would tot up their daily living expenses and worry if the debits were higher that the credits. Her husband John had just retired so they had to be careful. "I know we must tighten our belts so to speak but surely June, cancelling the daily paper is a step too far!" But June continued with lists and budgeting and savings money were she could, until one day she realised a very big thing. Living costs would be much healthy if there was only one of them. Their income would be the same from their savings and John's life insurance would still cover the outgoings, which would be consid-erably less if there was only one mouth to feed. June decided she would poison John the very next day. Unfortunately she mixed up the tea cups when they had their nighty cocoa and John lived the rest of his life happily single with no money worries whatsoever.

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