Issue 395 10th July 2015

2

FLASH FICTION: Random Words: Susan, chaps, small-town, transla-

tion, robots, scaffolding, gloom, purple, bar-room (150 words)

Assignment: Sheds (400 words)

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Latest Competitions: Poetry Translation Prize | Closing Date: 12-Jul-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1772 Bare Fiction Debut Poetry Collection Competition 2015 | Closing Date: 17-Jul-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1778 PENfro Poetry Competition | Closing Date: 31-Jul-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1774 Sussex Poets Competition | Closing Date: 10-Aug-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1776 The Timothy Corsellis Prize 2015 | Closing Date: 06-Sep-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1770

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5

Gardening Tips for July ... Frances Hartley

Once again it’s two or three days with your Summer clothes on and then it’s back to

Autumn weather with lots of wind and torrential rain. I won’t grumble too much

though as the garden flowers are looking lovely even if they are quite bedraggled.

If you like flowers for the house and like to grow some of your own there are

quite a few easy perennials that are ready to plant and on sale in the garden centres

now. But you can easily grow your own from seed if you prefer, however, they

need to go in as soon as possible and it is a bit late for some varieties. Many seed-

lings of perennials are best kept in a cold greenhouse or frame for the Winter and

then planted out the second year. We have a good selection in the garden for cutting

now, which were grown from seed last year. The trailing Lysymachia, or creeping

Jenny makes a real splash of bright yellow in tubs and baskets in sun or shade. It is

always on sale in garden centres, but if you plant a bit in the corner of your garden

you can keep it growing on for cuttings next year. It will almost root itself as it

trails across the garden and all you have to do is dig up some pieces early on in the

season and pot them up to bring them on for your baskets and tubs. There is also a

tall variety that grows to 2 ft 6 or 3 ft high and is just as bright, so don’t get them

confused as this type might look a bit silly in a hanging basket!

I have just re-done my vases of flowers for the house with flowers out of the

garden, including Pyrethrums, Marguerites and Campanulas that are commonly

called Canterbury Bells of which there are a rich blue and white. I also have

Monarda Didyma, or Bergamot seedlings coming on that will be planted out next

year. The Gladiola are starting to come into flower now and they are ideal for cut-

ting as they last well in water.

On the kitchen window ledge there are three Amaryllis bulbs in flower and

they flower each year even though all of the bulbs are five years old. The bulbs are

of course potted in pots that are only just big enough for them and planted so that

they are half above the compost to discourage “Pups” from forming. They get a

good baking on the upstairs window ledge in full sun after flowering, when the

leaves are allowed to slowly die off and are kept dry in the same pots until Spring.

Then they are gradually woken up with a little water. There is also a Hibiscus on

the kitchen windowsill that I keep taking cuttings off. The Hibiscus looks so bright

and being in line with the front door it makes a cheery greeting as most people look

straight ahead when entering the hall.

The Tomatoes are growing well in the greenhouse now and often

get a gentle tap to disturb the pollen and set the fruits in case there are

no bees about.

In the months of June, July and August everything is in full growth in

the garden as well and there is always lots of tidying up to do. Flow-

ers should be dead-headed regularly to stop seed pods forming which

will halt flowering and bushes and hedges made up of Privet, Buxus, or Lonicera

Nitidia should be trimmed as well as conifer hedges.

Well that’s all for now. Cheerio. Frances Hartley

The Old Free Public Library was a Carnegie Funded Library and still has the original cast iron gutter hods stamped 1913.

Some shocked Facebookers are stunned by the

degree of demolition and destruction

They are asking the hard questions ...

Why wasn’t the building listed prior to it being sold

to a developer?

How was planning consent obtained for such

extensive stripping and demolition?

Friends of the Old Library Stafford can be found

on Facebook.

They are taking on a huge task of acquiring the

building, restoration and change of use to secure

the building as a community asset.

They will need help and support from the public.

To help buy and rescue this building ...

Friends of the Old Library Stafford

Facebook Group.

Grandma Kirby (1920)

This is a story about my grandma, who worked against all odds to rear her brood of nine kids, and some of the things she got up to, and realise where I get my temper from, though it takes a lot of

provoking these days to wind me up.

Mother‘s younger days In his late teens father got his first rented fields, about 12 acres with a small shed where he bought

his first sow, then swapped it for his first cow and started milking, this was adjacent to his own fa-ther‘s farm, where just a few hundred yards down the road on another farm where my mother was born and lived. Mother was brought up on the farm at Coton Clanford, she was one of 9 children and

was a twin, they were the 7th and 8th born and reared by their elder sisters, grandma was widowed not long after the youngest was born.

It was a struggle for her to run the farm and rear such a big family, it was not uncommon for her to

be seen with a pair of work horses ploughing, and doing all other laborious work that had to be done about the farm, helped of course by some of older children and a faithful bachelor cousin Charlie, who stepped in and stayed with her for the

rest of his life.

This is the old Coton Clanford Chapel as it is today, its now used by the local scouts as a HQ, but when it was used as a chapel it had seating for about twenty and a pulpit and an organ that had to be treadled, also a small vestry at the back (leanto at the far end). Still has the original iron railings along the front. There are three foundation stone built into the front wall one each side of the porch and one above, but they are that badly weathered the sandstone lettering is now unreadable. The Chapel was situated just down the road where, as grandma played the organ and sometimes con-

ducted the services, it was compulsory for all the family to go twice every Sunday, a very small build-ing holding no more than 20 seated but at times many more would pack into its small room. Very loud

and enthusiastic singing was the main aim of the venue; later mother was in the Seighford school and St. Chad's church choir.

Grandma, mother‘s mother (Mother had lost her father and father had lost his mother,) was a very tall and robust woman, about six foot and sixteen stone, not a person to be ignored. When I knew her as

a little lad she was getting bent with age and nowhere near her youthful height. She always wore a hat and a huge hat pin, normally black and a black dress almost ankle length and a dark three quarter

length coat with big pockets, and to top it off when going to chapel or visiting she always had her fox fur. This hung around her shoulders with a clip on its jaw to make it look as though it was biting its own tail. The fox‘s eyes were bright and very piercing, and as it hung over the back of our chair at

home one night father was manipulating its head round the settee just as the cat was purring round the other way, when the cat saw the piercing eyes glaring at it, the fox jumped forward .

Need I say the fox lost a lot of fur and father got cussed in no uncertain terms, amid peels of laughter

Coton Clanford Chapel

from all the family?

Grandma always had a very strong ‗best' float to go to town in, most people had traps or gigs, rather

light and delicate in build and lightly sprung for comfort, but she had to have something that would take at least a good proportion of the family. Like car drivers now they had "road rage" and aggres-

sive drivers as well in those days. I fear to tell you that grandma was one of these. A long standing feud with a person who used the same road to Stafford and back, found themselves

using it on the same day, on a very narrow section of road along Butterbank, but they were going in opposite directions. Neither would hold back to let the other through, so with a quick flap of the reins

grandma increased speed, and rushed the gap, she set her jaw, and clenched some of her teeth, her hat pulled well down and pinned in all directions as usual .

With one wheel on the grass and a steady eye for the road beyond she got through, slowed the cob to a trot she never looked back. If she had looked back as some of her family helpers did, she would

have seen a trap still moving along the road slowly, the driver on his back side in the middle of the road, and the axle and wheels of the above mentioned vehicle twisted and half way over the hedge.

The hubs of the respective vehicles had met with great force, grandma having the greater weight in wheels and cart contents, lost only a scuft to the paint, the other almost totally destroyed.

Mother started school with her twin sister at the age of 3 in 1912 at Seighford school walking just

over a mile past Oldford‘s farm and across the footpath that comes down the cumbers (a field south of the school, one I farm now) the footpath coming through the blacksmith‘s garden a cottage by the

side of the school, where the school care-taker lived. The head master then was Boss Plant and the infant school teacher was Miss Pye who taught me to write in the same class some 30 yrs later.

From my own recollection of Miss Pye, she was getting quite old when she taught me, but she was quite slim and elegant, old fashion in her dress always wore her hat when cycling to school on her sit-

up and beg bike, it had a heavy looking chain case, a large basket on the front, and carrier on the back where she strapped her rain coat, and on the rear wheel it had protective cords threaded from the mud guard to the spindle in a fan shape to stop her dress and coat catching in the wheel.

She taught us to write in big bold sweeping loops then later how to join them up, I notice even now

there are some people, taught by Miss Pye, who write very similar to each other, including mother and myself. Miss Pye retired and lived on to over a hundred, she lived in the same house all her life.

On leaving school mother went into "service" in a big house up the Stone Road at Stafford to bring in the essential money to help keep the family at home surviving. It was a very lean time for farming

and not enough work at home to keep them all in full time employment; grandma always said she looked forward to Sunday mornings as there was no postman to bring unwelcome bills.

It was around this time father bought a motor bike, an old Valasett belt driven machine and he and

mother used to travel the area on a Sunday afternoon when she was off work but he had to be home for evening milking. Mother being an absolute wiz at knitting, knitted him his only pair of gloves he ever had for on the bike, they had to be specially made as he had lost two finger on one hand in an

accident clearing the blade of a horse drawn mowing machine when living with his uncle. In all my life I had never known him own another pair of gloves.

Father's Fingers is another story to tell another day

Did you see that black dog sneak round the back door? From the corner of my eye, I‘ve seen him before.

Likewise a man, with familiar face, Disappeared from sight, left not a trace.

I wasn‘t upset but perfectly calm, I knew in my heart they meant me no harm. Quite often this happens, it is very strange,

I half-see somebody, but just out of range. They seem to belong here, it once was like home.

And through house and garden they‘re happy to roam. I catch glimpses of people I think I once knew,

Dashing about, so I don‘t have clear view. Why do I see them? Know that they‘re there? When nobody else has experiences to share.

If anyone knew of these thoughts in my head, They‘d think I was crazy, so I‘ll keep schstum instead!

Did you see them creep by, the black dog and the man? You have to be quick to see like I can.

SO WHY AM I PUTTING THIS ON FACEBOOK?

It is time for me to issue another blueprint for our world,

To save us all before it‘s too late! Listen to my wisdom, I‘m sure I ‗m right to say,

To slow the rot, we should accelerate. I know what must be done to start this sad campaign, Rid the world of one single small device,

The mobile phone responsible for many of our ills, Chuck it out! Don‘t even think twice!

Slow down communication, enjoy quality of time, Less hurry will cure a load of stress, The internet should go! It does a lot of harm,

That‘s why the world is struggling in this mess. I realise the value of the world-wide-web,

But its users have changed its working brief. A tool for destruction, for anger, and for hate,

Just a massive barrow, full of grief. Imagine no Facebook, ‗twittering‘ or text, No email, just letters through the door,

But can anyone remember a time not long ago? Whatever did we do before?

They say that many a true word is spoken in a jest, Don‘t believe in everything you read.

So my plan to save the world, though written tongue in cheek, Could be the start of the process we need!

Car Boot – (Dedicated to the Sunday morning heroes out in all weathers) 40p Assignment SMS Littered with the detritus of other people‘s lives each wonky table a kaleidoscope of memory: toys a baby threw from its pram being traded for juicy baguettes of ham. Schoolboys with a come-and-buy look in their eye, desperate for old Ted to morph into a warrior spy Polish, Urdu, French and Shelta voices mingle and fade into the melting pot of common trade. A bargain is struck over a handshake by the proud new owner of a ‗vintage‘ rake no doubt made in Taiwan last week with knock-off DVDs: well worth a peek! Roly-poly mothers haggle over second-hand shoes crushing buniony toes into fake Jimmy Choos. Sad stick-thin girls with pushchairs and straggly locks counting the pennies for ice-creams and chocs. Chipped and sorry, a flying Beswick duck all on its own, and two rows further on another waits sadly alone, and right at the end on row twenty three, for 40p, the tiniest duck to reunite all the three.

"KellsFol292rIncipJohn" by Unknown - [1]. Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia

Commons - https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:KellsFol292rIncipJohn.jpg#/media/

File:KellsFol292rIncipJohn.jpg

"KellsFol032vChristEnthroned" by Abbey of Kells - Scanned from Treasures of Irish Art, 1500 B.C. to 1500 a.D. : From the Collections of the National Museum of Ireland, Royal Irish Academy, & Trinity

College, Dublin, Metropolitan Museum of Art & Alfred A. Knopf, New York, 1977, ISBN 0394428072. Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons - https://

commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:KellsFol032vChristEnthroned.jpg#/media/File:KellsFol032vChristEnthroned.jpg

A quarter of the entire population of Ireland live in Dublin. It is a vibrant, cosmopolitan and fascinating city; the birthplace of Joyce, Wilde and Swift, and the day I was there a month ago, it seemed like everyone in the country had descended on it too. The name Dublin derives from two

words meaning ‗black‘ and ‗pool‘, but oddly, it has been twinned, not with its ob-

vious namesake, Blackpool in Lancashire, but in a deliciously Irish way, with Liver-pool.

The city is blessed with wonderful Geor-gian architecture, at times reminiscent of

Bath, and sits on the River Liffey. Its broad thoroughfares bustle with all manner of

street entertainers; brake dancers, jazz singers and the traditional Irish fiddlers, all attracting hordes of tourists and locals

alike.

I had gone on my coach trip with two main purposes in mind; to see the city, and to visit Trinity College to view the 9th century Book of Kells, which is kept there, in the Old Library.

The Book of Kells consists of the four gospels of Mathew, Mark, Luke and John, in Latin, in illumi-nated script and was written by monks in a Columban monastery in Ireland or England around 800

AD. Only two of the volumes are on show at any given time, the others being kept under lock and key for security. There is an admission charge; I paid 9 Euros as a pensioner, and we joined a short queue outside

the library building to see the exhibition called ―Turning darkness into Light‖, but as it was a warm, sunny day, this was pleasant enough. We didn‘t have to wait long, unlike the time when in queued

for around three hours in the 1960s to see the Dead Sea Scrolls, and soon found ourselves in a dimly lit circular room in the centre of which were the showcases containing the ancient volumes. Many other folk, including several teachers with their young charges had decided to visit that day, and they

squeezed their faces to the glass, to get a closer view of the works. The walls are covered in huge blow-ups of pages from the gospels and we marvelled at the intricacies, symbolism and minute de-

tailing contained within. The skill and dedication of those who produced such masterpieces under such difficult circumstances is mind-blowing, especially for someone such as myself, with an art de-

gree. The use of camera flash is forbidden and the atmosphere is carefully regulated, in order to pre-serve the precious artwork. We had a chance to walk around the rest of the Old Library which is itself well worth a visit. Built

in the 18th century, the Long Room, which is up a flight of stairs, contains 200,000 of the most an-cient and important volumes. The long, dark, oak-lined corridor with its barrel-vaulted ceiling has

shelves from floor to roof, which tower above the onlooker and the ceilings are very high, giving the building a cathedral-like atmosphere. As far as the eye can see, there are books and in 1860, the ceil-

ing was raised, to allow for the addition of another level, to accommodate more. Marble busts of vari-ous eminents;- writers and philosophers- line the room. A spindly spiral staircase leads up to the up-per storey, where flimsy wooden ladders such as might be used by window-cleaners and for the re-

trieval of particular tomes lean against the shelves, ready for use. Such is the height of the building that I didn‘t envy anyone who was sent up there

to find and locate one book amongst all the oth-ers. Signs ask for silence, reminding us that this is in fact still a working library and reading room

and once again, although photographs are per-mitted in there, no flash may be used in order to

maintain the correct light levels etc. for the fragile texts.

Before I returned home, I went to the ancient Christian settlement of Clonmacnoise, in County Offaly, which was founded in 544 by St Ciaran

and where many well-preserved buildings, towers and 13 foot high crosses can be seen. The

original monastery was strategically placed, on the River Shannon and so a centre of arts,

religion, craftsmanship and trade sprang up there, and by the 9th century, it was visited by scholars from many parts of the world. Many

kings of Tara and Connacht are buried there. The graveyard is still in use today, and services

are still held on the site, including mass held by John Paul 2nd during his visit to Ireland in Autumn 1979.

"KellsFol002rCanonTable". Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons - https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:KellsFol002rCanonTable.jpg#/media/File:KellsFol002rCanonTable.jpg

Date: 1920 - 1925 (c.)

The Albert Cinema opened in May 1912 in a former rag and bone warehouse on Crabbery Street. It closed three years later.

In 1919 the building was converted into a repertory theatre and

remained as such until 1932 when it reopened as a cinema, known locally as the 'Flea Pit'.

The Albert Cinema closed in 1952, and by 1963 the building had been taken over by the Stafford and Stone Co-operative Society. http://www.search.staffspasttrack.org.uk/engine/resource/default.asp?txtKey-words=Library&lstContext=&lstResourceType=&lstExhibitionType=&chkPurchaseVisible=&rbAlphabeticalRecent=1&txtDateFrom=&txtDateTo=&originator=%2Fengine%2Fsearch%

2Fdefault_hndlr.asp&page=&records=&direction=&pointer=56&text=0&resource=1429

Date: February 1946

A long period of rain resulted in the River Sow rising to its highest level

ever recorded, flooding the railway station and stopping traffic.

At the junction of Newport Road and Bridge Street the water was

two feet deep. Cottage dwellers had to be rescued by boat and one house was washed away.

On the left is the old library build-ing which at one time had exten-

sive gardens.

There is a FACEBOOK Community group called ―Friends of the Old Library — Stafford‖ which wants to see the building brought back into public use as a Community Hub. Pg 6-9

Park Bench On the bench beneath the tree‘s Leafy branches take your ease. Try a book, or paint the vista, Kiss a baby, taunt a sister. Watch the world jog cross the park, Lovely now, but not after dark. A young ex-squaddie crack cocaine, Comatose in oblivion, such a shame. No home to go to, none to care, Poor lad gave his all, an‘ soul did tear.

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