Issue 417 RBW Online

Issue 417 11th December 2015

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FLASH FICTION: Random words: peacock, prescription, anachronis-

tic, Greek, assignation, Rudolf, trebuchet, vascular, heft, down, rain

Assignment: The Christmas Cracker or ―The voice could not be

ignored...‖

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

DIARY DATES: Please note:

Mince Pie Monday will be December 14th

which will be the final workshop for 2015

Image Source: The Guardian Facebook Feed

www.issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

EXTRACT FROM PETER SHILSTON’S BLOG Part Two:

IRELAND

The Prime Minister when the

potato famine first struck was

Sir Robert Peel, seem today as

the founder of the Conserva-

tive party (though it has al-

ways retained its traditional

name of "Tory"). He was a

highly effective administrator,

and dominated Parliament, but

was frequently at odds with his

own back-benchers.

He was aware of the problems

facing Ireland from 1845. He appointed

a Special Commission for Poor Relief,

encouraged local Board of Works, and

organised the importation of American

grain. This was sold at a penny a

pound, and ground up into a kind of

porridge (which was nicknamed

“Peel’s brimstone" and was not liked!).

He also spent £100,000 on flour stocks,

to be held in reserve and sold by local

committees, not through retailers. This

sum eventually rose to £185,000. (To

put these figures in context; total gov-

ernment income and expenditure at this

time was about £55 million a year).

Ideology to state interference in the

market. (To put these figures in con-

text: total government annual income

and expenditure at this time was less

than £55 million).

No-one died of starvation in 1845, but the next year brought complete crop failure and economic and humanitarian ca-

tastrophe. Suddenly, workhouses in the west of Ireland were besieged by starving people demanding admission; five

times the workhouses' capacity. The Irish Board of Works, run by local J.P.s, encouraged schemes to provide employ-

ment, paying up to a shilling a day for such work as building roads and draining bogs. £475,000 was spent in the first in-

stance, employing 140,000; but officials were swamped by thousands more of the destitute hoping to be taken on. (Also,

in order to maintain fairness, it was ordered that landlords would have to pay for any economic benefits they gained by

this work). At this time no American grain was available for purchase and distribution.

Peel’s Conservative party was based in the countryside. During the Napoleonic Wars, grain prices had reached un-

precedented heights, and with the return of peace, English farmers were worried about competition from cheap foreign

grain. Parliament had therefore passed the Corn Laws, banning or controlling grain imports to keep prices high. The Corn

Laws had been modified several times from the 1820s, but were still on the statute book. They were bitterly resented by

poor, but also by the increasingly influential urban middle classes. Two northern radicals, Richard Cobden and John

Bright had formed the Anti-Corn Law League: a highly effective and very influential campaigning group. Peel was very

much a free-trader, and had always had his doubts about the Corn Laws, and in January 1846 he announced his intention

to repeal them entirely. The Duke of Wellington (who was himself the scion of a family of Protestant Irish nobility, the

Earls of Mornington) grumbled, “Rotten potatoes have put Peel in a damned funk!”, but it is difficult to avoid the suspi-

cion that the Irish crisis was merely an excuse to implement a long-intended policy. Even if it eventually led to cheaper

grain, how would it help the starving Irish now? Or, if Peel really believed it would help, why not just announce he was

suspending the Corn Laws for the duration of the emergency?

The Conservative party split. The disaffected were led by two great landowning aristocrats, the Earl of Derby and

Lord George Bentinck, but their most effective spokesman was not a landowner and was even questionably English. Ben-

jamin Disraeli had been returned to Parliament for Shrewsbury in 1841, but his attempts to gain ministerial office had

been rebuffed by Peel. He now joined Derby and Bentinck in a savage campaign campaign against their party leader, ac-

cusing him of a betrayal of principles. Disraeli mocked Peel in his political novels "Coningsby" and "Sybil", written at

this time; memorably dismissing the Conservative government as "Tory men and Whig measures”, and now he assailed

Peel in brilliant speeches of personal abuse. The humorous magazine "Punch" contributed this item to the debate:-

"A distressing case of bigamy was heard before the Westminster magistrates, when a Mr Peel was accused of entering

into marriage with a lady named Free Trade, his first wife Agriculture being still alive".

In May 1846, when Corn Law repeal came before the House of Commons, the Tories voted by two to one against their

leader; but the measure passed with the votes of the opposition Whig party and Daniel O'Connell's Irish Nationalists. De-

spite his doubts, Wellington stayed loyal to Peel, and helped the Bill pass the House of Lords in June. But Peel also

wanted to pass an Irish Coercion Bill, trying to deal with rural violence by suspending Habeas Corpus and allowing spe-

cial courts without juries and detention without trial. There was no way the Whigs or the Irish Nationalists would support

this. On same day as Corn Law repeal passed the Lords, the Coercion Bill came before Commons; and by this time many

of Peel’s party so hated their leader that 80 Tories abstained and over 70, led by Disraeli, voted against. Peel was defeated

and resigned as Prime Minister a few days later. Peel's government was just one of many in the nineteenth century which

collapsed because of Ireland!

The Tories remained split, with the bulk of the party now following Derby and Disraeli, but the Peelites (who in-

cluded most of the ministerial talent, including the young William Gladstone) were now separate, and eventually merged

with the Whigs to form the Liberal Party. But for the next 20 years politics was very confused, with the divided Tories,

the Irish, and the Whigs themselves split by personal rivalry between Lord John Russell and Lord Palmerston. It was a

time of weak, unstable governments, coalitions and no clear election majorities for any party. The Tories did not win a

majority again till 1874!

Peel died in 1850. He is often seen as one of the greatest of Prime Ministers, but he had clearly failed to carry his party

with him. Meanwhile, the problems of the Irish famine were inherited by a weak Whig government under Lord John

Russell, which survived only because the Peelites made little pretence of opposing it. What would he do?

Russell was an even more doctrinaire free trader than Peel: strongly opposed to state interference in market forces,

which in the case of Ireland would mean suspicion of artificial job-creation, or the banning export of food from the coun-

try. But the principal weakness of applying free-market doctrines to Ireland was that there was food available, but the

starving people had no money with which to buy it.

Russell was unduly influenced by Secretary Trevelyan, man on the scene in Dublin, who thought free handouts

would only encourage what he saw as the Irish tendency to idleness. Reports of a better harvest in 1847 led to the Irish

Poor Law Extension Act, which stopped any further financial aid from the central government for Irish poor relief: in-

stead local ratepayers would be responsible. But with no rents coming in, there was a squeeze on the landlords and larger

tenant farmers too. In Westport, the Poor Rate was levied at over 50%! Many of the more prosperous inhabitants simply

fled from the worst-affected areas.

Soon there were reports of deaths from starvation, corpses left unburied, even cannibalism. One coroner’s jury, in-

vestigating a family who had starved to death, brought in a verdict of willful murder by the Prime Minister! Job-creation

schemes run locally by the Irish Board of Works were employing three quarters of a million people, but inexperienced

management often resulted in chaos. 300,000 people were receiving daily help from soup-kitchens; a figure which even-

tually reached around 800,000. Nearly a million were reported to be seeking admission to workhouses, which became

grossly overcrowded, and the managers were simply unable to cope. The lack of sufficient clean drinking water, inade-

quate cleaning-out of filth and no washing of bedding resulted in epidemics of typhus, dysentery and cholera; killing far

more people than died of actual starvation. New measures were enacted for setting up fever hospitals adjacent to the

workhouses; but these were often no more than temporary lean-to shelters. Between 1847 and 1851 half a million died in

these shelters, with a high death-rate also amongst doctors and nurses. The Castlerea Union Workhouse in County Ros-

common was severely overcrowded, and deaths ran at 74 per week, including the boss and his wife!

The public in England were not completely ignorant of conditions in Ireland. There were, of course, no no means

yet of publishing photographs in newspapers, but magazines such as the "Illustrated London News" carried engravings by

artists of dreadful scenes of suffering. Often these were considered to be exaggerations, or just ignored. "Punch" never

took the famine seriously; instead publishing a grotesque cartoon of the Irish Nationalist leader Daniel O'Connell, with

the caption "The real potato blight!". In the absence of decisive intervention by the state, a million pounds was raised by

private charities; perhaps half coming from the USA. The Quaker Relief Committee was particularly active, distributing

food and clothing and attempting some economic improvements, such as the development of a fishing industry. But none

of this could do more than alleviate the disaster.

As tenants were unable to pay rent, they were evicted from their holdings. In 1846, 4600 families were evicted, ris-

ing to 16,500 in 1849 and 20,000 in 1850. They might be given some small financial compensation, but then their huts

were destroyed to stop them coming back. The underlying motive was simply to get them out of the area and make them

someone else’s responsibility. But often evicted families just squatted on vacant land, having nowhere else to go!

In Strokestown, County Roscommon, there was an estate of 9000 acres, which Arthur Young the agricultural expert

had once considered to be prosperous. But now 479 families on the estate had paid no rent for two years. In 1847 3000

Strokestown tenants were evicted; the majority soon dying. The Strokestown agent, Major Denis Mahon, decided financing

emigration was cheaper than paying the Poor Rate, so he paid £4,000 to assist a thousand Strokestown tenants to emigrate

to Canada.

Emigration was indeed the only real solution to Ireland's problems. Countless thousands of Irish flooded into Brit-

ain's cities, especially Glasgow, Liverpool and Manchester, where lived in the vilest slums and were hated because they

were willing to work for wages well below what an Englishman would consider acceptable. Both Engels and Dickens

noted that poorest and most degraded slum-dwellers were usually Irish. Many socialists considered that the influx of cheap

Irish labour had seriously undermined the trades union movement.

Others crossed the Atlantic: 230,000 in 1847 alone; 1½ million between 1845 and 1850: almost a fifth of the entire

population of Ireland! But they faced weeks in low-standard, overcrowded ships, where epidemics were all too common.

496 souls from Strokestown boarded the “Virginius” at Liverpool, but by their arrival in Canada 158 had died (plus 7 of

the crew) and 180 were ill. (On another ship, the captain had to pay his crew a pound for every dead body brought up from

the hold!). On arrival they were held at quarantine stations. 5,500 Irish immigrants died at the Grosse Ile quarantine station

in Quebec in 1847, as typhus and dysentery swept Canadian cities. Those who survived were often robbed of any money

and possessions they had left by thieves and confidence tricksters. They settled into the vilest slums in New York, Boston

and other east coast cities.

Not surprisingly, there was rising rural violence in Ireland. Land-

lords often accused Catholic priests of stirring up trouble, despite this

having been forbidden by the Pope. In August 1847 there was a bitter

dispute between the aforementioned Major Mahon of Strokestown and

a local priest, Father McDermott; and in November. Mahon was shot

by unknown killers. Other landlords were also threatened. The govern-

ment responded with new a Coercion Act; troops and police were

rushed in and tenants in the area evicted. In February 1848 two men

were arrested, neither being a local tenant, were convicted of conspir-

acy to murder, and hanged that summer amidst a strong military pres-

ence. By 1881 the population of the Strokestown estate had fallen by

88%!

Ireland suffered from a lack of political leadership at this crucial

time. Daniel O'Connell's campaign to repeal the 1800 Act of Union

between Britain and Ireland had failed completely in the early 1840s

and his dominance had come under pressure from a more militant

group under Smith O'Brien, known as "Young Ireland". O'Connell died

in 1847, and it was thirty years before Ireland found another leader of

his stature. The British government's willingness to help Ireland was

hardly encouraged by the fiasco of O'Brien's attempted armed rising in

1848. The British courts, very sensibly, refused to make a martyr of

O'Brien, who was transported to Tasmania but reprieved six years later

and allowed to return.

In the end, the famine petered out, but the population of Ireland has never recovered since. The Irish emigrants took

their hated of Britain to the USA, where it endures in tradition. Henceforth, radical republican movements could always

expect funding from America.

Footnote:

One unexpected consequence of mass Irish immigration into Britain was seen when the first professional football clubs

were formed a generation later. Everyone knows that in Glasgow, where divisions were fiercest, Rangers were the Scots

Protestant team and Celtic the team of the Irish Catholics; but there was a similar division in Edinburgh between Hearts

and Hibernian; and to some extent in Liverpool (Liverpool versus Everton) and even in Manchester (City versus United).

To this day, the Irish tricolour can be seen at Celtic matches.

7

Gardening Tips for December ... Frances Hartley

A Few Tips On House Plants In December

There are some really lovely Cyclamen about now, but they don’t like central heat-

ing which most of us have. It is the dry air that is the main trouble, so stand the pot,

the plant is in, on some gravel, broken pots or small stones in another container and

keep the stones wet, though not so much water that the plant is standing in water.

Cyclamen don’t like water on the corm, but with these precautions they should stay

in flower for at least 3 months.

Azaleas like plenty of water so give them a good soak each day by standing

them in water until the pot feels heavy, then, let it drain and stand the pot in another

container with wet gravel etc in the bottom. This keeps the humidity round the

plants and indeed you will find that most house-plants prefer this type of care. This

does not apply to Cacti and other succulents which like dry air. If you like the

Xmas cacti you should buy them in tight bud if you can and after putting them in

the house don’t keep moving them round as they might drop their buds. Just dust

around them without disturbing them.

African Violets don’t like water on their leaves so when the pot feels light just

stand it in water for a few minutes, leave it to drain and then put it in a holder or on

a saucer.

Hope these tips are useful to you. Frances Hartley

TRAVEL BLOG EXTRACT: A letter from South Korea That usual quirk of time has stung again and I am now entering my fourth week in Korea. Strange to think that had this been a holiday, I would already be tucked up at home in my own bed, supping on tea and crumpets. No such luck here. It turns out, bizarrely, that crumpets are not a thing in Korea. I am now, at least, the owner of bed (it was delivered this Sunday!) and am acquainted with at least four streets in downtown Daegu, which does mean that I can get to work unaided. Luckily, work is easy to spot, being in a 13 floor building block, which housing a multi-story cinema and, weirdly, a multi-story cosmetic surgery clinic. (I've since discovered that these are all over Daegu). It’s also next to the Musical Square, so on Saturdays, one need only to follow the sound of live Mamma Mia and Grease. Wall Street is on the 12th floor of the Cinecity building. A glass house of cubicles, engineered to promote "openness". Even the teachers are not immune; our desk is out in the open of the main lobby. The students are a curious bunch. They always surprised to learn that I’m new to the country and want to know why I chose Korea and what I’ve experienced here. They’re a very food-centric culture. They want to know what I’ve eaten, where I’ve eaten it and whether I liked it. They never believe that I enjoy spicy food. They’re also curious about ‘traditional’ English food – apparently news of our terrible cuisine is yet to reach them. The majority of the staff are also Korean. The largest team is the Personal Tutors (PTs) of which there are five, all female. I’m not sure exactly what they do except that the do almost everything, from changing the coffee filters, to filing the paperwork, to introducing students to the WS system, to teaching workshops (in English), to dealing with complaints and booking issues. By comparison, the teaching lark is easy! Then there are the Consultants, locked in their crystal boxes, hands glued to the telephone or win-ning contracts. Also somehow connected to it all is Scott, supposedly in charge of marketing, but in real-ity something of an odd-jobs man. His English isn’t the best but he hardly lets it hold him back. Of course, there’s also the teachers. There’s me, obviously, a skinny Scot with a love of Irn-Bru and Aberdeen F.C., a token American who is a true introvert at heart and enthusiastic Korean learner, and finally, our boss; a highly inappropriate Welshman with a subversive sense of humour and penchant for all things alcoholic (though not during work hours – just to be clear. And to cover myself, legally…) So, so far, so good. If anything goes drastically wrong, I’ll let you know, but for the moment the future looks bright.

The main entrance

The main lobby with the teacher's desk in the back

The view from the classroom!

“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 Errol‘s 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 Camp‘s 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.

Up, Up and Away ACW

The three brothers sat morose, with the voices still ringing in their ears from the phone call they had had to make, from their irate father and devastated mother, left bereft of all her daughters‘ full

church weddings and receptions. Their sisters having sneaked off to Gretna Green with their beaus, to be married in secret.

Everet suggested a day out, ‗Come on, let‘s go to town and go across to France. Our pater‘s aeroplane just sits in the hangar.‘

Eugene sat pensive for a moment then informed, ‗I just need to use the phone.‘

Virgil insisted, ‗No, me first, brother.‘ ‗OK, me too,‘ said Eugene.

And they went out of their hotel room in good-natured rivalry. Soon returned, a taxi ferried them to town and told to wait outside a swanky café. After a short interval, the boys returned carrying leather valises and hat and make up boxes, following by three young, giggling ladies, dressed in the

most fashionable attire. As Eugene gunned the plane for takeoff for a smooth surge up into the blue sky, instead of bank-

ing right, he banked left then northwards. Virgin, as navigator, cried, ‗Hey, you oaf, you‘re going the wrong way.‘

Eugene said, ‗Nope, let‘s seize the day with our good fortune the ladies have consented to our lifelong union, and go to Gretna Green this very day as well and be wed.‘

Uproar ensued.

The Mystery Deepens ACW As dawn‘s sun was fully starting the day, the returned band from the lighthouse drew up at the

garages aback of the hotel. Prince Harald, Ruckenbacker and Comrade Greys-Windsor, carrying the box of requisites for

morning ablutions for the Prince, made their way up the hotel stairs from reception, to the Prince‘s

suite. The rest were putting the two out of the three freight lorries into the garage, either driving or di-

recting to reverse in. As Comrade St John alighted from his parked up lorry, he remarked, ‗Hey, where‘s the third van

gone?‘

Comrade Bunson-Smythe opined, ‗What fool‘s taken the van when we‘re cut off from the mainland.‘

Kevin Harvey then observed, ‗Blimey, the 1920 Bleriot and the 4 wheel Bow-v-car motor cycles have gone an‘ all. Look ye, it‘s not their fancy owners out and about on ‗em, ‗cos their motor cycle

leathers are dumped where they were.‘ Wilhelm then shouted across to Kevin, ‗It‘s alright, your beer dray cart is still here, with the

empty beer barrels.‘

‗Oh the Shires,‘ remembered Kevin. Looking out behind the garages, Kevin saw the Shire horses munching grass quite happily.

Trooping up the servants stairs carrying the Prince‘s valises and chest, they came upon Colonel Beaumont in the corridor before the Prince‘s suite, about to descent the main stairs.

Wilhelm informed the Colonel, ‗Ah my Lord Marchant, some silly dummkopf has stolen my com-rade‘s van and your Bow-v-car and your lady‘s 1920 Bleriot motor cycles. You‘ll easy catch them, as the causeway‘s washed away and we‘re cut off from the town.‘

‗Oh dratted rats, rats, rats. I will inform the Bluddschotts immediately,‘ and the Colonel hurried down the stairs.

Kevin knocked on Christiana Aggott‘s hotel suite door and upon it being opened, handed her hus-band‘s and her own motor cycle leathers to her.

‗I hope this is not a ruse by you for a finder‘s fee,‘ snorted Christiana.

‗Lady Christian, be assured of no such dishonesty,‘ confirmed Kevin. But the kernel of an idea began to come into his mind.

Goldilocks AT

Rosemary Glibworthy, an immaculate woman of fifty or so, followed closely behind by her daughter Gillian, made their way gingerly across the grass. It was a very hot day and the ladies

were rather perturbed. Three large ex-army tents had been erected in a clearing between the trees, A large sign

‗Trentby Hotel Camping‘ ‗PRIVATE KEEP OUT‘, made them stop and take stock. Gillian was out of breathe and was glad of a chance of a breather. Her chubby legs didn't

move has fast as her mother's. She was very unfit for a girl of twenty. ‗They said at the hotel it‘s the second tent on the right‘, said Gillian helpfully.

‗But who's right?‘ asked Rosemary, sometimes her daughter could be annoying. The front flap of the middle tent was open and so Rosemary made for it, shouting as she

entered,‗Hello, is anyone there?‘

It was a large tent with two camp beds, a table, a couple chairs and a stove. It was quite empty of campers.

‗No one here mother!‘ ‗I can see that for myself. They must have popped out for a while. Gone for a walk,‘ al-

though she could not see her friends, Vera and Gloria actually going for a walk. At the hotel they had told her the friends were camping out because there were no rooms available.

‗What shall we do mother?‘ asked Gillian.

‗What shall we do child? We'll sit and wait. I haven't seen my friends for months. remember it will be a wonderful surprise for them to see me. Sit down, in fact I think I might lie down for a

while. I am quite worn out with the journey here, in this hot weather.‘ She walked over to one of camp beds and checked the strength of it Gillian was alarmed,

what on earth was her mother thinking of, and her mother wasn't exactly a light weight and suppose she even broke the bed.

‗Oh mother don't! What will they think. It's just like Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Mother

please!‘ ‗I'm tired, look these beds have been made up. They haven't been slept in. You take the

other one Gillian. We'll have a nice little rest while we wait for Vera and Gloria then we can go back to the hotel and have a nice cup of tea,‘

Gillian did as her mother told her to do, as usual, and lay down on the second bed. It was

very muggy in the tent and within minutes they were both asleep, fast asleep, as the rain clouds gathered angrily in the sky above and the wind sprung up to tear at the sides of the tent.

Several hours passed, the storm was on a rampage outside, the rain lashing the canvas. It was also dark.

Gillian awoke with a start. She could just see the shape of her mother on the other side of the tent. Gillian ran over and shook her mother, in a panic.

‗Wake up mother, wake up it's dark!‘

‗Fetch the police!‘ Rosemary sat bolt up in bed, ‗Where am I?‘ ‗Mother don't you remember we are waiting for Vera and Gloria, in a tent!‘

‗A tent?‘ ‗They never came and now it‘s dark and there is a storm and we are trapped. Mother what

can we do? Think of something. We are trapped, oh mother what are we to do?‘

Norbert had, more or less, decided that standing to rigid attention when reporting to Nigel

Bluddschott was a waste of energy. He did what he thought of as a sort of approximation of it and leaned, looking attentive, against the doorjamb.

Sally, who had abandoned any pretence of even standing, was sprawled in the only other chair in the office. She finished her tale by saying, 'That's what they said, Bluddschott. It means that there's a

ghost haunting the island and it's some sort of relative of yours.' Nigel was both incensed by her outright lack of respect for him, and outraged at the haunting of

HIS Island. 'So how do we get rid of it then?' His voice wobbled at the volume he used as he shouted.

'Is there some kind of powder we could put down, or do we call in the vermin control people?!' Sally shook her head, her auburn hair causing a half-halo about her features. 'You really don't know

a thing do you, Bluddschott? There's no WE about it, there's only YOU, and YOU have not heard a thing I've said. You are the next worst thing to useless and madam, upstairs with a migraine, isn't even that good!' Her tone was scathing.

Nigel‘s lack of anything approaching self-control took over. 'And you're fired, you ungrateful wretch. Get your traps off my island by dinner time!' He was shaken by the barking laugh that Sally gave in

reply. 'Wrong little man, so very … very … very … wrong,' the soft answer was all the more shocking be-

cause of the pity in her voice. 'Poor, poor, Bluddschott. You don't have any idea do you? Get my traps of YOUR Island?' There was a snort of amusement. 'You can get your traps off MY Island though. I'll be generous and allow you oh, forty-eight hours before I get the bailiffs in and have you ejected.

Winifred can stay though. She's reasonably competent so I'll give her a job: in reception.' Nigel was shaken to his core but fired back with, 'And how, Miss High and Mighty, assuming that

you can get rid of me, do you propose to run the hotel without any management?' Sally stood up, suddenly she seemed to fill the room, as she said, 'I know of a certain ex-officer, a

Captain as it happens, who could do that job nicely. If he could run a machine gun company in the hell that was Salonika in '18, I'm sure that he can run a hotel in peace time.'

Norbert stood up. He knew a few ex-officers from Salonika who had failed to find peacetime em-

ployment, maybe he could help there. 'Miss Gray, I'm sure that I can find a few,' he offered.

He called her, ―Miss Gray‖, instead of the more familiar, ―Sally‖, as both he and Bluddschott knew exactly who the one in authority in this office was.

Sally; his beloved Sally, turned her face towards him and beamed a smile, 'No need, Captain Bun-

bury, I know just the man for the job and, as luck has it, he's not far away. Now! Please don't inter-rupt until I've finished with sorting this mess out.' She pointed to the door and made drinking and

shooing motions. Norbert saluted; a proper Regimental Sergeant Majors salute, and then, his heart singing, went to

find the pot of tea, and plate of cakes, that he knew that Miss Gray, ―His Sally‖, would need shortly. 'I'm so sorry, Norbert. I've had to keep the clown on until the end of the season. He's got so many

half-finished things on the books that nobody else knows about. Next year you will be heading a new

management team.' Sally, or was it Miss Gray, Norbert couldn't keep who he was talking too straight in his head, told him later in the day. 'You could even get some of your ex-rankers a job here.'

He nodded. That one was easy. 'But just how did you get the clown to do it, ermm … Miss … errm … Sally.'

Sally laughed, 'My poor, dearest, Norbert. We'll have to work out what you call me later. Sally will do for now, in private of course. The upshot is that I own the island itself. When the hotel was built, they hadn't bought the land it stands on from my family. To get things moving the committee,

Grandpa and the other five owners, gave the go-ahead when negotiations stalled. In the meantime, they've been killed off, died out or bought out by Grandpa. He gave it to me, and some hotel stock,

about 2%, in his will. I inherited last year. End of story!' It all sounded very difficult to Norbert, but he didn't press the matter. 'So I work for you then? Next

year anyway. What happens when we marry?'

Sally chuckled, 'I haven't said 'yes' yet, sweetheart. Christmas; remember? There's lots of things to do before then, lots of things to sort out. Let's get the place cleared up first.'

Latest Competitions: Culpepper's Remedy Poetry Competition 2015 | Closing Date: 31-Dec-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1855 The Interpreter's House Poetry Competition 2016 | Closing Date: 30-Jan-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1859 Aurora ImageAurora Poetry & Short Fiction Open Competition | Closing Date: 01-Feb-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1854

Hungry Hill Writing Competition 2016 | Closing Date: 01-Feb-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1858

York Literature Festival / YorkMix Open Poetry Competition 2016 | Closing Date: 14-Feb-16 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1857

Latest News: Calls for Saudi poet to be released | 26-Nov-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/poetryscene/?id=1436

Andrew McMillan wins Guardian first book award | 26-Nov-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/poetryscene/?id=1434

The Poetry Library Christmas opening hours | 25-Nov-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/library/?id=1432

The Michael Marks shortlist | 23-Nov-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/poetryscene/?id=1431

The poets of Instagram | 23-Nov-15 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/poetryscene/?id=1430

Missing Missing you is being bullied in Miss Ashworth’s class, Missing you is bare feet crunching on broken glass, Missing you is the world switching over to ‘Mute’, Missing you is hurting over a friend’s dispute, Missing you is buying chips without salt, Missing you is everything’s always my fault, Missing you is the horror of Concorde crashing, Missing you is lorry tyres puddle splashing, Missing you is as sore as an open wound, Missing you is reaching out for a silent sound, Missing you is eyes wide staring at a game-show, Missing you is chilblains throbbing in winter snow, Missing you is two weeks in Benidorm, Missing you is a caterpillar that can’t transform, Missing you is Mozart through ear defenders, Missing you is sales day at Marks and Spencer’s, Missing you is cardboard instead of cornflakes, Missing you is my life drifting by in out takes, Missing you is a ticking clock without a chime, Missing you is so much worse at Christmas time.

SMS 2007

Winter Solstice.

Barbara Barron

The presents are wrapped beneath the Christmas

tree.

In bright paper, shining, with tinselled string

and jolly little labels.

How exciting for the children to see such indul-

gent mystery.

There are lights on the tree, which glisten on and

off,

And then gradually come to brightness, cour-

tesy of the MEB.

Does this look back to a time when the frost on

the trees was almost as bright

As the electric lights?

See the windows sprayed with plastic snow,

how quaint and cosy,

Knowing the power of the central heating would

negate any cold deposits.

A time of laughter, merriment and jollity,

And fear, should there be fear?

No of course not, here’s the Xmas turkey, brown

and steaming,

With all the vegetable trimmings, dinner amid

the wrapping paper

Thrown in a pile, the presents now all viewed on

display.

How long before these get forgotten and broken?

There are prickles to Christmas just like the

holly,

With blood red berries, so symbolic.

There are pickles at Christmas, storing the

summer sun.

And goodness knows summer needs storing,

Or does it, in this time of plenty and comfort.

Why the sun never dies now, perhaps never to be

born again,

Nobody really cares about it any more.

Who notices the sun’s about to die?

When the days begin and end in darkness

Who worries about the God’s return?

We sing “The Holly and the Ivy”

But we forget the evergreen leaves were

summer’s last hope.

If the leaves stay green perhaps the God will

return,

To bring a wealth of goodness, of summer

fruits and meat.

The Yule log is burned and carries on burning

throughout the winter,

It is a token from the God,

A little bit of sun strayed from the sky.

So they made the small God

A young man well chosen,

The best of the group of young men we have

raised.

His is great honour

We dress him in all finery, with crown of

holly,

Clothed in fine garments, warm furs, of the

best.

He is fed of the lean of the meat, his the place of

honour

And at the winter solstice he gladly pours forth

his life

To enable the great God to return once more to

the heavens, to bring life to others

The holly bears a berry as red as any blood.

BB 2006

Our Friend

Barbara Barron:

Fondly remembered

and sadly missed.

HAVE YOU SENT IN

YOUR POEMS

FOR “LINKS”?

Links is the theme for RBW’

2016 e-Poetry Collection.

"Christmas Is Coming" is a nursery rhyme frequently sung

as a round with lyrics as follows:

Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat

Please do put a penny in the old man's hat

If you haven't got a penny, a ha'penny will do

If you haven't got a ha'penny, then God bless you!

A variant has the final line as "If you have no ha'penny, then God bless you!" Another variant is "Please to put a penny in the old man's hat" in the second line.

The traditional version of this song uses the melody of the English dance tune "Country Gardens", but other melodies exist.

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Time and Tide

The 2015

Short Story

Collection

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