Issue 421 22nd Jan 2016

MID-WINTER: TIME TO BE PLANNING THOSE DIY PROJECTS FOR WHICH ONE NEVER

HAS THE RIGHT TOOLS

OR SKILLS

Sounds like a blog

opportunity ...

2

FLASH FICTION: Random Words: lemon, gallery, gentlemen, cush-

ion, weevil, xylophone, earth, combinations, art, classic, memorable

Assignment Happiness is ...

A warm welcome awaits. COME to WORKSHOP ... Every Monday 1.30 start Rising Brook Library

Fac

ebook g

em ...

Funny thing the passing of

years. I could have sworn Id bought my electric blanket only a

couple of years ago, said my friend. So when hed

seen the images of a house

fire on the news caused by

an old electric blanket. He

asked me to help him

be on the safe side. So I

checked the label:

March 2000 it said. Fifteen-years-old.

Its now in the bin. We both learned a lesson.

One of the hardest of lifes journeys is that of the

Child/parent transition.

When the time comes

between asking a parent

what to do

and telling a parent

what to do.

Counting the days to

Springtime.

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Me!

This wasnt meant to happen, well not for some time yet,

A body built to last, I didnt seem to get!

My hands are rough and wrinkly, my arms have dimpled skin,

Blue veins run up my legs and gather round my shin!

Ive face creams in small bottles, lotions to moisturise,

Scrubs to scrape and polish, tonics to brighten eyes.

These products crowd the bathroom, invade each tiny space,

Trying to halt the march of time across my ageing face.

When did it all happen, this dimpling, wrinkling skin?

No amount of secret potion will fill those lines in!

As I look into the mirror, reflected there I see,

A grown up kind of woman, I know her best as me!

Each line is drawn in moments of happiness and joy,

Shadows are for dark times which upset or annoy.

My face is just a picture to show where I have been,

And all my aches and pains add colour to the scene.

Though creams and scrubs and solid soaps may have a little space,

Look at me and you will see, my life drawn on my face.

In me Mind theyre all Old

I goo darn ta the coffee morning,

Ta meet all thee owd folk, Bit of cake and a swill of coffee,

N see who I can provoke, Depends who ya sitting near, Need ta mind me Ps and Qs,

An elbow in the ribs,

Could bring a nasty bruise.

In me mind theyre all old, Dont see me sen like them,

Bent and lame and loosening hair,

(Om talking bout me sen), Gooin deaf and gooin blind,

But I doo like the cake, Why v ell da think I goo there,

Its just a refreshing break.

We maul over the village news,

And bend each others ears, The hour and half it soon goes, And we thank our volunteers,

All good humoured and a laugh, Relaxed as it can be,

A group who appreciate life,

N talk how it used to be.

Owd Fred

Friday mornings Cake

So Friday mornings nearly here, Om impatient ta get down theere,

See whos come, see what theyve cooked, Baked with so much flare,

The pride they take in decoration, To cut, they look too good,

From this owd codgers point of view, Gimme the knife, I could.

Owd Fred

Ya get up in a mornings and av a good think, not so

much of what yuv got to do today or at any time in the future, but back in life on what you could have

done if ya ad ya life over agen.

Lifes Time Clock You Cannot Beat

You wonder where the time, and all the years have

gone,

They pass so quickly now, going one by one, Seasons sequence come in turn, no control have

we, Wind and rain and sunshine, day and night decree.

Snow and frost to turn the year, new start for New Year,

Spring and summer, showers and the sun appear,

Autumn fruits and berries, winter for the birds to eat,

Repeat with little change, lifes time clock cannot beat.

Owd Fred

Moles And Rain At Last.

After we had first been given access to the new plots in Hixon, I had a quick look around and saw 2 or 3 little piles of soil on one of the paths. I assumed at the time, that it was something that had dropped off the diggers during construction, however, I now realise that they were Mole Hills! There is no problem with Rabbits on this site as yet, unlike my other, because of the ex-pensive Rabbit fencing, but Moles are a whole new challenge! To be fair, I think that all they will really do is be a nuisance making little mounds of soil in my tidy rows of young vegetables and occasionally burying a few plants. What Moles really want of course are worms. I have been scattering clean, whole-some, pelletted, chicken manure, but most plots have been liberally adding, rotted horse manure, which as we all know, is full of lots of live, fat, juicy, wriggly, worms! At the beginning of June we had a couple of really wet days with some torrential rain at times, that will have brought worms to the surface and hatched even more worm eggs in the manure. I wonder where my mole will go to for his next meals when he realises whats in the neighbouring plots? The welcome spell of wet weather has also meant that the seeds everybody else has been sowing are coming up nicely now all over the site, whereas, some of my early sown plug plants are still struggling to settle in. With that in mind, I have found that it is still not too late to sow some vegetable seeds straight in the soil including one purple carrot called Purple Haze, that might be interesting. I know that purple beans go green when they are cooked, but purple potatoes dont and obviously Beetroots dont. (Unless they bleed!) I have also got some late sowing Swede and quick cropping baby turnip seed. The wet weather has also highlighted the problem of the whole site being on a slope and soil falling downhill onto the dividing paths. Before construction there was talk of installing retaining walls on each plot, but due to safety issues, time constraints and the prohibitive cost it wasnt done. However, several plot holders have discovered that they need to take their own action. From the outset we were told that the site was not to become a builders yard, so I am trying to make little retaining walls in 2 or 3 places on my plot where the soil is the highest. Bricks and concrete blocks were the obvious choice, but of course Lime from the blocks will be a problem for many plants. My brothers friend gave me some old pipe lengths that had been used for grow-ing Show Parsnips, a week or two earlier. Seven of the pipes had already been planted as Strawberry Towers at home, but I had some leftover. Prop-erly spaced with some old, brown, clay tiles, placed upright between them, they make an unusual low wall that can be planted. Different varieties of Thymes, to be used in cooking, are ideal as they will root down all over them and bind all the bits together. Being raised, the Thymes will also be easy to cut, when the time comes as well.

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ALL THAT JAZZ

Won the vote and

will be the next

RBW farce.

ALL THAT JAZZ. CAST OF CHARACTERS

Many of these characters are two dimensional as yet: where you have a physical description in mind please write it in some-where so that we all know about it. AND check these notes for updates and send in any updates please.

Hotel staff free for all to use - opening gambits by CMH. Nigel Thomas Bluddschott Manager part owner of Hotel Bluddschott'. Married to Winifred. Tubby, balding, brown hair, brown eyes, 34, 5' 7 tall. Tenor voice but wobbly and hesitant unless using a prepared script. Not good at thinking on his feet. If something CAN go wrong it WILL. Smuggles brandy, fags and other taxable goods as a part time job.

Winfred Alice Bluddschott (nee Gray) Manager part owner of Hotel Bluddschott'. Wife of Nigel. Plump more than tubby, brown hair bleached blonde, brown eyes, 35, 5' 6 tall. MUCH more capable than hubby with a hard edge to her speech. CMH.

Sally Gray. - A MYSTERY WOMAN in any case. Don't know (yet) if she's staff, entertainer (torch singer or fan dancer) or guest. Youngish woman. Tall, hazel eyes, auburn hair, very capable. I have her earmarked as an ex-QA/WRNS/WRAF officer who has just completed her time & wants to 'get away from it all'. BUT, she could be something entirely different! Norbert Bunbury. Staff, driver and odd job man at the HB. Was Infantryman possibly W.O.2 (Sgt. Maj.) or higher. I fancy a field promotion, mid 1918, not a Sandhurst man with a few gongs to his credit. Tall, brown eyes, dark brown hair. Well built.

Blackleg Bill Bluddschott - the ghost of. AT and CMH Comic relief characters. You never know! These ladies may, possibly, be descended from those who went with Captain Fowlnett onboard 'The Star' in 'Packet to India'. They are middle aged, overweight, often slightly 1-over-the-8 and about to be tented! Vera Accrington -

Gloria Stanley - Dorothy Calcutt (their much younger niece) Ronnie Manservant only lasts a day.

NP Griggleswade (Griggles). Flyboy. Ex-RAF now working for M.I.5 (or something) as some kind of 'Air Detective'. Ch. Supt. Chorlton-cum-Hardy. Previously Colonel. Griggles superior officer in M.I.5

Mossy. Working with Griggles. Windle. Working with Griggles. Jones. Aircraft mechanic works for Griggles.

Wilhelm von Eisenbahn, aka Osbert Lessly or 'Big Shorts'. Khaki Shorts leader. Comrade 'Ironside' aka Joseph. Lenin boys leader. Comrade Plotskie aka Leon. Assistant to 'Ironside'.

ACW.

Christiana Aggott posing as Lady Arbuthnot Christian. Novelist. Actually married to Col. Beaumont Walsgrave but using a nom-de-plume for secrecy; & for advertising purposes about her new book, 'The man who shed crocodile tears'. (This neatly gets the requisite reptile into the plot line)

Arbuthnot Aggott or Uncle Arbuthnot. Head of a Security Organisation (Home Office?) Christiana is working for him.

General Arbuthnot Aggott. Christiana's father and brother of Arbuthnott Aggott. Something in the War Office (as the

MoD (Army) was known then) to do with Counter Espionage. Col. Beaumont Walsgrave. Christiana's sorely missed hubby.

Bright Young Things: Ruby Rawlings, Charlotte Ponsonby-Smythe & Katherine Wallasey. Bright Young Things brothers: Everet Rawlings, Eugene Ponsonby-Smythe & Virgil Wallasey.

Communists et al ACW Comrade St. John. Lenin boys Comrade Bunson-Smythe. Lenin boys

Bro.?? Muckleby. Leader of 'The Workers Party' also something to do with Arbuthnot Aggott. Bruder Wilhelm Bergmann. German trades union leader.

Bro. Kevin Harvey. A Workers Party member. (Changed from Hardy) Ernst Graf von Rockenbaker. Sir John Keithly.

Lord John Markham. Sir Martin Wickham.

SMS. Barnard Hot Sax Player Musician and nice guy. Errol Holiday. Band leader and piano player Tallulah tubby torch singer Errols girl friend, hates Jo-Jo Jo-Jo. Fan dancer from Red Parrot Club, Paris sister of Errol. Hates Tallulah.

Cpt Digby Makepeace hotel guest Barrington nephew of Makepeace knew Jo-Jo in Paris and knows PoWales.

LF Rooster Pearmaine detective drunkard Balsom Fry valet Cpt Hove-Brighton assistant on trail of missing novelist

AP

Boys and Girls Camps characters and storyline Gilbert and Walter

Simon Bligh pack leader Jenny H.B. STAFF LIST. Awaiting names/descriptions and free to use. Head Waiter. Head Gardener. Head Chef. (Unnamed but has been used) Geordie pretending to be a French Chef, as they get paid more. No good at accents. Head porter/Concierge. 'Dell boy'. He knows about the smuggling racket. Wine Waiter/Sommelier/barman. All on the take from the 'duty free' wine.

CMH Helpful ? NOTE 1. If you are going to involve Security Forces (police and military) then please note that there was nothing like the MoD, it was FOUR (4) separate organisations. Admiralty for the Royal Navy. War Office for the Army. Air Ministry for the RAF. The Home Office for the Police. However, Policing was done by County/Borough. The Home Secretary couldn't give orders to the Chief Constable and the Met. was Asked to assist if he thought they were required. I would think that Trentby, being a City or Borough would have its own Police force. Just to make things interesting H.M.Customs was still is - a part of the Treasury. As civil servants, they did NOT have military rank equivalence or titles nor, except for two of the higher grades, dress uniforms. It gets complicated because in 1923 there were a few organisational 'hold-overs' from earlier times and some officers did get working uniforms issued.

Ahh ... Memories: the old sit-up-and-beg

typewriter. Much loved by writers and journalists for generations. They had a handy slot on

the carriage return for resting a cigarette.

Health and safety didnt exist.

The Big Idea ACW

The comrades were left in vacant, paid up possession of Prince Haralds hotel suite after all the commotion of

him eloping off with the exotic artiste Jo Jo, taking Ernst Graf von Rochenbacker and the German trade union leader Wilhelm Bergmann back with him to his kingdom, to where he was the Heir Apparent.

A couple of days later Kevin Hardy, the Workers Party member and British trade unionist, received a long letter from Wilhelm come by plane, as the causeway was still under repair after the storm. The Lenin boys comrades St John, Bunson-Smythe and Windsor Greys, along with Brother Otis Muckleby, leader of the Workers Party, who had come by the same plane as the mail, all listened avidly to what Wilhelm informed Kevin by letter:

Greetings Comrades. Prince Harald, with my help and that of Graf von Rochenbackers, have mounted a coup and unseated and banished the Emperor and Empress, who were out of the kingdom taking the waters at a spa.

Weve seized the assets and palaces of the aristocracy and banished them also to their foreign holdings. Now the people each have a stipend to keep their daily needs, with half for each child. Each man is granted a small holding of land to feed his family, a home for them all and such means of livelihood

as a courtyard crafts hall and a market stall. Each woman has been granted a spindle to make wool into yarn and loom to weave their family needs as well as make for sale a tapestry or carpet, a sewing machine and a pottery painting hall to add to the familys household budget.

Each child is freed of labour and attends free school each morning to learn to read, write, literature, poetry and life skills to make change in his head, to work out the maths of looms weft and warp and to do the accounts of home and works. Each girl is also taught to sew, knit, crochet, spindle wool, weave and paint, as well as herbal potions to tend the sick. Each adult man and woman belongs to their neighbourhood council, where all voices are equally heard.

We are planning a great feast before Christmas to celebrate our liberation brothers and you are all welcome. In solidarity, comrades. Your brother Wilhelm Bergmann.

Muckleby sat pensive in the corner and spoke first, I have other momentous news brothers. All British trade un-ions, including the miners, will come out on a long national strike. All workers in a general strike will down tools to

bring down the cruelty of workhouse, the injustices of high rents for poor rooms and a living wage for all, and whats more, for an end to any left in hunger. I have informed the waiting on staff of the hotel already. The hotel will lose all electricity soon and the rich guests must fend for themselves to clean room and empty chamber pot, to cook and to bring food to table, to launder their own under garments and fancy fashions.

The comrades cheered as one.

The Dread News ACW

Colonel Beaumont Walsgrave sat transfixed at the note that had come for Christiana from her Uncle Arbuth-not, head of secret service, via the mail plane, as the causeway was still under repair after the storm.

Dear Christiana, Take all speed to make your own way by fishing vessel or private plane to escape to France. Your Aunt awaits

you in Marseille at our villa. Our government has fallen to a communist coup and we must seek refuge in France

in all haste. Stay safe, Uncle Arbuthnot. Frantic packing ensued between them. Just then urgent knocking came at the door and when opened by Beaumont once he recognised the voices,

three young men rushed in, all babbling at once, who had been undercover in the Khaki Shorts camp. Sir John Keithley made sense first, asking, Have you received the news as well, Beaumont? Beaumont nodded as he flew about the room packing.

Lord John Markham offered, Ive seen good sized fishing boats in harbour on the north shore. Im sure theyd give us passage for a fee.

Sir Martin Wickham then observed, We are all packed and ready. Wrap up well against the sea air, Christi-ana.

The Great Escape ACW

Keithley, Markham and Wickham led the way down the back servants stairs, carrying their valises and vanity cases, whilst Beaumont struggled with his lady wifes large trunk, portable typewriter in its case and hat boxes as well as his own knapsack.

Christiana carried but a small vanity case and even smaller Gladstone bag. Once out into the woods out back of the hotel, Christiana bemoaned, Im not spoiling my shoes in the mud of

the lane. The men discussed options, when Wickham espied the two grey Shire horses, We can use them as pack

beasts and to carry you aloft to the harbour. Im not riding bare back, my man. Anyhow, these Shires were pulling a beer dray cart last I saw them. Look

in the garage, Im sure I saw it in there. Keithley went into the garage and then beckoned the others, Go round up the horses. Dray and harness are

within. Be quick before the hotel rouses. Soon they were trotting down the lane, with Beaumont and Christiana on the dray seat, and the men and lug-

gage in back now bereft of its beer keys. Reaching the causeway, dismay fell upon the would be escapees, as the waters lapped over gaping holes in

the causeway to the mainland.

Markham suggested, Make for the harbour, Beaumont. Still in the twilight of the pre-dawn they came close to the safe haven harbour, at first not seeing any fishing

boats. Beaumont alighted and with two of the men went closer to the quay, using the buildings and marine equip-

ment on the dock as cover.

There they saw moored close to shore a magnificent motor yacht, with gleaming metal and polished timber, with nameplate Das Trossachs.

Getting closer they heard, Guten Morgen as one guard gave his gun to another and then went below. The men soon dispatched the guard and tied and gagged him with rope on the quayside, behind packing cases.

Markham shouted something vaguely German sounding and two men rushed upon deck, and were as quickly

dispatched, joining their fellow compatriot on the quayside. They, warily, went below, to find but two more men, soon overcome, tied up and taken and left on land.

They then went back for Christiana and Keithley and loaded up the motor yacht quickly, putting Christiana in

the best quarters, Oh yes, this will do nicely. They were soon underway, passing close to the island shore away from the town coast in case any revolu-

tionary militia were even now crossing the sea channel, and kept mid-channel until past the lighthouse and dan-gerous rocks before it.

Then out to sea towards France and freedom.

Christiana came onto the bridge and hugged Beaumont, Oh yes, a nice cruise to the French Riviera to round off our holiday. Glorious.

Come on you two, stop lagging behind, Hove-Brighton and Fry now both stood shivering and cold in their underwear

After several navigational map errors the trio, finally arrived two hours later at smugglers cave, it was beginning to rapidly turn dark, all three were hungry and their tummies echoed in the darkening cave, echoing the most was Pearmaines as hed the chubbiest paunch.

Look at all this whiskey and rum! Exclaimed Pearmaine, his eyes lit up like two well lit candles. Hove-Brighton noticed lots of various brands of cigarettes. He was once a heavy smoker.

Smokers paradise, his devils-menacing voice said. The smoking demon came back to haunt him. Now busily huffing and puffing away. With the occasional hmm bliss.

Fry meanwhile discovered something hed always fancied having a go at, a hot air balloon. Wow look! What Ive found!!

The podgy red-faced Inspector Pearmaine, was too drunk to care and Hove-Brighton was puffing away, getting a buzz and filling his lungs full of deadly tar.

Fry went outside and tried to inflate the tatty balloon with some gas canisters. Come here Hove-Brighton isnt she a beauty. Drunkenly, Pearmaine staggered around it occasionally tripping over, the pegs holding down the balloons basket wires.

Hove-Brighton still with a cigarette in his mouth, ash dropped to the ground causing dry leaves to

catch fire next to the wicker basket. Mind that ash Hove-Brighton, it could easily set fire to the bas-ket. Sure enough it did, soon followed by the balloon canopy itself.

Trentby Island became enveloped thick with smog.

I dont believe you two, Pearmaine said in a slurry voice. Meanwhile close by the smugglers cave, the oncoming Khaki shorts, were returning back to their

camp, they were singing, except for the two that were tied up yolk-style to a tree-branch:

It sounded like ... the tune was indescribable and nobody knew the right words ... John Down's body lies something, something in the glabe,

John Down's body lies something, something in the glabe, But his sole goes parching on.

Glory, glory, balle-luwah, Glory, glory, balle-luwah,

His sole goes parching on.

Pearmaine, Hove-Brighton and Fry scurried back through the smoke towards the hotel, occasion-ally hiding in hawthorn hedges, with the marching gantry of khaki shorts, all wondering where the

thick smog had come from, hearing yelps of, Ouch, another prick on my bum!! Khaki shorts continued singing their approximation of the popular song

He's gone to be a moldier in the larmy of the Sword,

He's gone to be a moldier in the larmy of the Sword, His sole goes parching on.

John Down's knapsack is trapped upon his slack, John Down's knapsack is trapped upon his slack,

His sole goes parching on.

(Marching outwards their discordant voices faded away.) Hove-Brighton and Fry were still shivering in just their underwear and soggy socks, and with no-

where to sleep that night, Pearmaine began to feel slightly sorry for them although this sentimental-ity was partly because he was rather paralytic, swigging occasionally on his whiskey flask until they

reached the hotel lobby.

You two stand behind that yucca plant and dont act overly suspicious. With that Pearmaine stag-gered up to his room, clonking up the staircase.

Keep quiet, the bellboy shouted. Before entering his hotel room Pearmaine, spotted a real posh dinner suit hanging upon his

neighbours door, it looked fit for a king. Taking the suit from the door he quickly snuck into his room and took a much needed bath.

Where do you suppose Pearmaines gone? Seems ages since we last seen him. Hove-Brighton said in a shivering voice. Its freezing. Hope he comes back pretty darn soon.

Sometime later Pearmaine then went to rejoin Hove and Fry. There was some rustling amongst the yucca plants.

Hey lads its me, the grand inspector. Gosh you look suave in that very impressive dress suit Pearmaine, where did you get it from?

Hove-Brighton enquired.

Never mind that chaps. He said in a glimmering tone. Ive something for you two as well. Hand-ing them both a shirt each and two enormous trousers, too big for either of them. For the rest of their

stay these baggy pants kept falling off them. Bear with me. Pearmaine retorted, and he went in search of some string within the open garage.

There you go, this should do the trick, look bingo! Pearmaine exclaimed joyfully. Fry was not impressed with the string for a belt. Oh wow, we should call you, your highness, with

looking so majestic, Inspector Pearmaine. I feel honoured to be surrounded by your presence tonight. Fry said. The sarcasm was lost on Pearmaine.

The three went to the restaurant at which time coincidentally everyone arose to their feet for a

toast, shouting: hail to the king, hail to the king and shame on the beggars, shame on the beggars. Looking down upon their pinched clothes Hove-Brighton and Fry discovered their clothes were well

and truly moth eaten. They looked like scarecrows at a feast. Both Hove and Frys faces dropped like lead balloons.

Has anybody here seen my best dinner suit? Boomed a distinctive well known voice: crikey, was it the king?

Everyones eyes transfixed to Pearmaine, Inspector Pearmaine, Ive a message for Pearmaine, the bellboy wallowed.

Pearmaine hey you, give back my clothes, called the booming man. Pearmaine stripped down to his underwear and all three were summoned to the cellars below the hotel by what past for hotel se-

curity and a military type on royal protection duty who had a revolver. How come were going too? Hove- Brighton and Fry announced. Indecent exposure, I think, Pearmaine exclaimed. Look, your trousers have fallen down again. Do

try to take control of your trousers. The three were crammed together in one tiny cellar, Pearmaine swigged on his last dregs of whis-

key, contained within his silver flask. Becoming somewhat deluded his sanity was rapidly turning into thin air. I cant cope you two, my lifes ruined, how was I to know the suit belonged to royalty, Im doomed.

Pearmaine look, someones thrown a letter through our cellar window, with this brick attached, said Hove-Brighton, while Fry, dazed by the impact of the brick hitting his forehead, was no help at all.

You alright Fry? Hove-Brighton was really quite concerned for his mate. Frys eyes whirled like two kaleidoscopes.

Hell be fine, Pearmaine said, unconcerned. Weve something more important to sort out, than his head. The writer Miss Christiana Aggott has gone missing.

Whos, that? exclaimed Hove-Brighton, both men having totally forgotten the reason for their be-ing on the island in the first place.

Shes the greatest romance writer in history. We must escape from this cellar, whispered Fry as he eventually came round, but was still feeling rather groggy.

No one knows how they escaped, except me the writer, however Ill let you into the secret. The cellar door was opened. (LF)

Latest Competitions: Light Verse Unlimited | Closing Date: 31-Jan-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1868 Lakeland Magazine Poetry Competition | Closing Date: 29-Feb-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1867 Poets & Players Competition 2016 | Closing Date: 29-Feb-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1869

Fosseway Writers Poetry Competition 2016 | Closing Date: 03-Mar-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1872

Poetry Together | Closing Date: 29-Apr-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1870

Latest News: Items added to the Poetry Library in December 2015 | 13-Jan-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/library/?id=1453 The Poetry Exchange podcast | 13-Jan-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/poetryscene/?id=1452 Sarah Howe wins the 2015 TS Eliot Prize | 12-Jan-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/poetryscene/?id=1451

Whitman Week - call for papers | 05-Jan-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/poetryscene/?id=1450

Chinese publisher recalls Tagore translation | 05-Jan-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/poetryscene/?id=1449

Don Paterson wins Costa Poetry Award | 05-Jan-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/poetryscene/?id=1448

LIBRARIES CAMPAIGN UPDATE:

Even though it has been noted that book reading can reduce anxiety and depression, since the Tories came to power in 2010 there have been 14 million fewer books available in libraries in the UK. Meaning 1 in 7 books have gone in the last six years. This is due to government funding cuts and library closures. This was shown by since 2010/11 the number of books having decreased from 96 million to only 82 million by 2014/2015. And that since 2010 over 400 full-time libraries have closed in the UK and funding decreased by 180 million. Half of all the total English book stock reduction had been reference and reserve books, only having one copy of each left. Laura Swaffield, Chair of the charity, The Library Campaign, that supports friends and supporters of libraries, says they are holding a protest at Parliament on February 9, if anyone would like to at-tend. SOURCE: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/conservative/12102686/14-million-fewer-books-available-in-libraries-than-when-David-Cameron-took-office.html The statistics are from the Chartered Institute of Public Finance and Accountancy (CIPFA).

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