Month: October 2023

Tuesday Tale – Which Witch?

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I know all about witches, not the sort children dress up as for Halloween, white witches in tune with the seasons, the old ways, wheel of the year, Beltane etc. and of course it’s nearly Samhain now, Halloween. The white witches could help me with my new herb garden and I needed a new interest while Graham’s busy with his steam trains. I hoped there were still places left on the U3A Modern Witchcraft, beginners. ‘Ladies, as the nights draw in why not join your local Coven.’

I turned up at the new community centre, certainly nothing creepy about that brightly lit place. We were a mixed bunch, a lot of nervous chatter as we waited to see who was leading the session. There were no chairs so that eliminated the problem of where to sit.

‘Welcome Ladies.’

We were taken by surprise, we hadn’t seen anyone come in. We turned to see a motherly figure of indeterminate age.

‘People have all the wrong ideas about witches, not helped at this time of year with all the Halloween hype. And then there are the ones who think I can cure all their ills with a few herbs. The true witch wants to fine her true self, her other half, her doppelganger, perhaps you might say. We all have one, our repressed selves and we are going to find it. Close your eyes and recall what thoughts you had today. Did you let someone at work walk over you, cook what your husband wanted for dinner, not what you fancied, stopped yourself from swearing at that gormless teenager who nearly knocked you off the pavement, too busy looking at his phone?’

I could answer yes to all those and I saw others nodding.

‘Now imagine what you would do if you had no inhibitions. Don’t voice out loud.’

She frowned at me, must have seen me whispering and giggling with one of the others.

‘Now go deeper and darker, admit to yourself, have you ever wondered what it would be like to kick that ridiculous yapping handbag dog who’s always snapping at you?  What if you pushed that cyclist off the pavement?’

I smiled to myself, yes…

‘Pushed that cyclist in front of a huge lorry…’

I felt a stab of guilt as if I really had killed someone. This class was not turning out as I expected.

‘But you still have within you the childish innocence, do you notice how children run and dance, wave their arms, totally at ease in their bodies. I want you to move around the room and allow yourself to be liberated, raise your arms, spin, sing your favourite song.’

We could not throw away our inhibitions that easily, we looked at each other waiting for someone else to start. But the leader swept round us with surprising grace for her size and somehow we all seemed to be humming the same tune. Then we were chanting, an ancient song, I felt weird, not sure who I was.

I could not believe two hours had passed, how did we get outside and where was our teacher? It was very dark, a fine night, the stars looked amazing.

‘I don’t feel like going home’ said one woman.

‘I think I’ll leave the car here and walk home, run perhaps’ said another.

 ’I’m going to dance home’ I trilled excitedly.

We floated past the pub where a few smokers were gathered outside. I have never even smoked, but I realised how much I had missed the scent of a newly lit cigarette. I grabbed the cigarette out of the hand of the surprised young man and took a long drag, what bliss; I decided I would take up smoking, hang the health risks.

I woke up the next morning pondering what a ridiculous evening it had been. No chance of me joining that coven, though I would look up doppelganger, I had no idea what it meant.

It was my turn to cook breakfast as Graham was going off to play with his steam trains. He liked a full English when he was on duty at the station, what he called his valuable volunteer work. As I slid the fried eggs onto the plate it suddenly dawned on me how easy it would be to smash the frying pan, hot fat and all, down on his head. Shocked by my thoughts I thrust the pan into the sink.

As I walked down the road to the day centre, where I volunteer, a young woman walked towards me with a take away coffee in one hand and her phone in the other, totally oblivious to my presence. Recalling the childish joy of raising my arms in the air I raised my arms under hers. The phone went flying into the gutter and the coffee poured down her front. Fancy having a bare midriff at this time of year, served her right. Her shocked scream rent the air and I marched on in satisfaction.   

On this busy road I was not surprised to see a cyclist on the pavement, helmet on, visor over his eyes and those stupid white things sticking out of his ears. If I didn’t dodge him he would mow me down. It was so easy to heft him off the pavement. There was a screech of brakes and a red faced middle aged man clambered out of his car.

‘Bloody woman, what the hell did you do that for?’

‘Don’t you ~~~~   ~~~~~  yell at me you ~~~~    ~~~~ .’

I let out a string or obscenities I must have picked up from the teenagers who walk and cycle past my house on the way to school.

‘I could have damaged my new car.’

‘He could have damaged me.’

He suddenly started laughing…’You have made my morning, but do you think we should check on him?’

‘No, don’t bother’ I said and marched on.

I felt exhilarated and certainly did not feel like going to the day centre, though I could stop by to tell that stupid cow  who runs it what I really think of her…

Well that certainly livened things up and gave the old folks a laugh, especially those with dementia.

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to go in a china shop and sweep all those delicate ornaments off the shelves? I was approaching that posh gift shop, the one with the snooty manager. Normally I am nervous of accidentally knocking something off. I was only going in to buy something for Graham’s mother’s birthday, another useless ornament to add to her ghastly collection. The manager was on the phone, didn’t even look at me, twittering on in that ridiculous voice of hers. My arms had never felt such freedom. She soon looked up from the phone with the wonderful sound of crashing and splintering, but I was already back out on the pavement.

I almost felt as if I could fly, I flew down the steps at the Broadway tube station. Where would I go? The rest of the day was mine, I would jump on the next train to come along. Blow shopping for tonight’s dinner.

The platform was crowded, everyone looking serious, as dull as the dreary October weather we have been having. People are so trusting, surging to the edge of the platform when they hear that rumble in the tunnel, see the lights coming round the bend. Never dreaming that anyone would push them. How easy it would be to push one person, domino effect…

Tuesday Tiny Tale -The Bottle

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 20 Comments

The window cleaner had been, the winter afternoon sun was shining through the front window; how long had it been since I had cleaned the diamond panes and dusted the window sill? I had always wanted a bay window and fell in love with the low deep sill when we viewed the house. Perfect for my collection of glass ornaments, at their best in sunlight. When my mother left me her favourite elegant green bottle my husband groaned ‘not more dust gatherers.’

He was right about them being dust gatherers and I vowed to myself I would dust them every week. I carefully picked up the delicate green bottle and polished it lovingly.

‘About time too.’

The rich baritone voice startled me, there was no one at home, the radio was switched off… I turned round to reassure myself I was hearing voices in my head, but there stood an elegant figure of a man, exotically dressed, bronze skin, neat beard and moustache and translucent…

After the initial shock I decided it must be an hallucination, then the dread that I might have a brain tumour replaced the primaeval fear that I was confronting a ghost.

‘Your wish is my command Madam.’

‘Oh don’t be so ridiculous, I know you’re not a genii’ I retorted nervously.

‘Do you have a better explanation as to how I have just emerged from the bottle?’

‘Noo.. so perhaps I should make a wish…’

‘Of course, that is why I am here, three wishes, think wisely.’

 ‘I certainly wish I had met you years ago, I could have done with your help.’

‘Your wish is granted.’

‘I haven’t made one yet.’

‘You just did. I granted your wish when you were a teenager, typical silly schoolgirl, you wished Lawrence would ask you out on a date.’

My stomach contracted, this was getting creepy or rather even creepier.

‘Yes, he did ask me out, you mean that was your doing and my life could have been different if he hadn’t… no that’s rubbish, he would have asked me out anyway, more’s the pity. Anyway, I would have remembered if I had seen a genii.’

‘You and your friend were so busy giggling at the thought of conjuring a genii you didn’t notice a real one. Did your friend become a champion ice skater?’

‘Oh my goodness yes she did, but that was because she had talent…?’

‘I haven’t got all day, you have two wishes left, what are they to be?

 ‘I must think carefully so I don’t end up using my third wish to undo the second.’

‘That’s another wish gone, one left.’

‘Hang on, that’s not fair, I wasn’t wishing then.’

‘You don’t get to make the rules, whatever you wish now will be undone so why not throw caution to the wind.’

‘Er um er I wish I had never married Lawrence.’

In a flash the genie disappeared and so did my front room and my house. I was standing in the middle of a jungle staring at a gorilla. A horrible realisation came to me. Among my many unrealised aspirations when I was at school was to be an adventurer, saving wild life. I certainly did not want to end up as a suburban housewife. Was this what would have happened if I hadn’t married Lawrence? With sweat pouring off me I looked down at the heavy boots encasing my feet and the trail of giant ants heading towards the top of those boots. Where was a genii when you needed one?

‘Rita, Rita I’m home.’

‘Is that you Larry?’

‘Who else are you expecting?’

‘Oh thank goodness.’

‘Why are you clutching that dreadful green bottle?’

I looked down to make sure I was wearing my normal clothes.

‘Just dusting, actually I think you’re right, let’s put this awful bottle with that stuff for the charity shop.’

Silly Saturday – Odd October

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When you are glad you walk everywhere.

Never mind your umbrella, don’t forget to take your phone in case it rains.

Do you ever wish Count Binface had won the election?

When you are invited to join the Green Party

When your neighbour gets new security lights.

How has your week been?

Tuesday Tale – Parcel

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 19 Comments

When I answered the door bell the postman was standing holding out a parcel. I wasn’t expecting anything, but he insisted it needed to be signed for and sure enough my name was written on it in large shaky capital letters.

It was vaguely rectangular, not solid enough to be a book and wrapped roughly in reused brown paper with no sender address. Who would pay extra, the price of postage these days, to send a parcel special delivery and not wrap it properly? What was it and who sent it? My life was far too boring to have threats sent in the post and certainly not a bomb or something.

‘Why don’t you just open it and see?’

Geoff had appeared at my shoulder.

I ripped off the paper to reveal a battered old leather satchel, like the one I had in junior school, in fact very similar. I felt a pang of sadness. My satchel had been a birthday present and I loved it, the scent of new leather, the shiny buckles and my initials embossed on the flap PMT. I presume when my parents chose my names they had not heard of pre menstrual tension, nor had I back then.

The long leather strap I wore round my shoulders to carry it on my back. I imagined myself to be a horse in harness trotting, cantering to school. A lot of the time in the playground we would play horses, taking it in turns to be rider or horse. The sash we wore round the waist of our gymslips was ideal to use as reins.  In addition to the satchel and equally exciting was the blue zip up pencil case the size of a book. Unzipping and folding open to reveal slots for everything, pencils, Lakeland coloured pencils, rubber, pencil sharpener and my pride and joy, the grown up protractor and compass. Did children have such things these days? Probably not the compass with its lethal point.

I didn’t enjoy my satchel for long, it disappeared without trace. My parents were furious that I had been so careless. I had not been careless, but had no explanation as to how I had it one moment, getting ready at the end of the school day, chairs on the desk, then suddenly it was gone.

Lost in memories it was Geoff who was examining the satchel and noticed the initials PMT. Even he had to agree things were getting weird and quickly opened it up to reveal an equally battered pencil case which was just about recognisable as blue. The zip was broken, it fell open to reveal pencil stubs, a worn rubber, cracked protractor and a bent compass; wear and tear to remind me sixty years had passed since I last saw it. If it was mine.

‘Ah, a letter inside the satchel,’ said Geoff ‘go on, read it, obviously some rational explanation.’

The shaky writing was not easy to read.

‘Dear Pauline, I expect you are surprised to have your lovely satchel returned. Yes it was me that sneaked off with it and of course I am ashamed now, was ashamed, but didn’t have the courage to give it back. Now is the right time. I haven’t got long to live, a cliché I know, but I want to tidy my life up. If you could spare an hour to visit, I have no one else to talk about the old days with.

Apologies     Patricia Mary Thompson’

Geoff looked expectantly at me, I handed him the letter.

‘I don’t even remember a Patricia in my class.’

‘She had the same initials as you, maybe that’s what tempted her.’

In the envelope was a card with the address Mary Mannings House, our local Hospice named after a forgotten worthy.

‘How did she find me Geoff, is she even real?’

‘You still live in the same place, though you have never kept up with old class mates?’

‘No, we all went to several different schools when we left juniors, I think most people went on to careers and travels world wide… Patricia, Pat, Tricia… Thompson, Thompson I think we had two Patricias and three Thompsons … yes, yes I think she was quiet, not naughty, not clever, not in my group… ‘

I arrived at Mary Mannings House feeling very nervous. What on earth did one bring? Flowers, grapes… I had never been inside the place. I took nothing, it was me she wanted to see.

I didn’t recognise her, but then I hardly recalled what she looked like when she was ten. Her voice was as shaky as her writing, she was not playing games, this was a dying woman.

‘Pauline, you came and I am doubly grateful; that you came today and for the satchel. It brought me such luck. I have travelled all over the world with it, jungles, dessert, oceans. I became an artist and a secret agent, had glamorous lovers, turned out I was much clever than anyone at school gave me credit for. So I have no regrets that I’ve ended back in our home town like this. It was a good life. My only regret was I stole from you.’

‘Oh it was so long ago, you probably didn’t realise how precious it was to me, but just please tell me why you took it?’

‘Simple jealousy I’m afraid, you were popular, in that group of clever clogs who never played with me, didn’t even notice me and you had a nice family who came to sports day and school fetes… I never got nice presents like you did…’ She lay back on the pillow exhausted from talking.

I was stunned, jealous of me?

‘Patricia, that was the only nice present I remember, Mum and Dad didn’t have any money. Those girls only let me in their group so they could share my pencil case. Their mothers were all good friends, I was the odd one out, didn’t get invited to their houses. As for my life, well you made the best of yours by the sound of it and my satchel has certainly had a more exciting life than me. I have had a pretty dull life, ordinary job, nice but boring Geoff in the same house since we got married…’

I realised Patricia had fallen asleep, probably hadn’t heard a word, dreaming of adventures past while I was left with my regrets.

.

Foolish Friday

~ tidalscribe.com ~ 21 Comments

You open a new page on your computer to go and visit your favourite bloggers or Facebook, but you never get there because you can’t resist clicking on to startling headlines about celebrities you have never heard of or, shocking events somewhere… you don’t know where till you click on to the item.

Why do you feel compelled to find out why the unknown celebrity, who appears on a programme you have not heard of, is so devastated with the news about …what? Obviously you can’t concentrate on writing your blog without finding out if that really is an alien ‘mummy’ or how someone choked to death on a marshmallow.

And where had that woman been for forty two years? Do not be tempted to go down rabbit holes as most of the dramatic headlines involve death sneaking up at the most unlikely times and places, under the strangest circumstances. Suffice to say anyone can be struck down by a mystery illness, the only symptom of which is sudden death. If you are amongst the lucky few to be in perfect health, do avoid alligators, bears, anything higher or deeper than two feet and best to avoid sleeping and eating as well.

Scroll down further and cheer yourself up by reading why you have ruined your joints and what you must never feed your dog. And look in the mirror and reassure yourself that you probably look better than the numerous famous stars whose appearance NOW will shock you, perhaps they were the Mexican mummies?

Tuesday Tale – High Energy

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Charlotte Charlington had never heard of Hambourne, but an unknown riverside town in middle England appealed to her for her new life and she hoped it would inspire her novel about Lottie Lincoln. She had no idea of Hambourne’s strange history or that she might end up in a novel herself.

Charlotte soon found the High Energy Studio at the Hambourne Leisure Centre, though some of the people going in didn’t look as if they had any energy. The Zumbournetics class with Holly promised low impact, Pilates inspired, static circuits for all the community. ‘Bring your baby or your Zimmer frame.’

While Charlotte was still job hunting she thought she should make the most of her free time and any opportunity to get to know the locals. It took courage for her to walk into a room full of strangers. Young women in leotards with babies strapped to their chests and old chaps with walking sticks each positioned themselves by a chair. An older woman motioned Charlotte to an empty chair beside her, then led the way to a walk in cupboard where they collected an assortment of gear; long stretchy bands, mini dumbbells, squishy balls and foam blocks.

‘First time? It’s great fun.’

Charlotte had hoped to remain anonymous in the busy class, but Holly made a beeline for her.

‘Any problems?’

Not any that Holly could sort out she thought to herself, but smiled and said. ‘Well I have no idea what I’m supposed to do, but apart from that…’

‘No heart conditions, joint problems, operations…’

‘I had my wisdom teeth out ten years ago.’

‘Good, good and how do you like to be called?’

‘Charlotte.’

‘Okay Charlie, welcome to the class.’

As Holly went off to fiddle with the temperamental music equipment the other lady leaned in to whisper ‘They have to be careful with health problems, especially after Dennis keeled over last month.’

‘Oh dear, dose she work us that hard, was he okay?’

‘No, stone dead. That’s why we’re fund raising for a defibrillator.’

Charlotte hoped here would be no deaths in class today, though it did give her another idea for a Lottie Lincoln case. People don’t just drop dead in a low impact exercise class, there must be a more sinister explanation.

The music blared out.

‘Marching on the spot, shoulders back, shoulder blades in your pockets, deep breath in as you raise your arms… now zip up from your pubic bone to your chin and exhale… open up that pelvis… step forward… Lottie, right foot, right foot darling not left’

Charlotte felt a hot flush coming on as she realised Holly was talking to her. She was having enough trouble working out whether she was supposed to be inhaling or exhaling.

‘Okay take up your bands… Charlie, pink band for beginners not the black. Margaret, under your knee not over…

Pick up your babies or your dumbbells. No Eddy, sit this one out. Easy option shoulder height, harder option reach right up…’

Charlotte thought the real Lottie in her book would be good at this, as well as being an ex army PE instructor, a fact she had just thought of, she also had a very sharp brain.

‘Okay take a drink break. Charlotte, where’s your water?’

Charlotte had assumed there would be a water dispenser.

‘You must have a bottle of water with you and drink at least a litre during the class. If you get dehydrated you will get cramp…’

A whole litre! Charlotte was relieved when they started to cool down, but she had enjoyed bouncing around to the music and realised her mind had been emptied of complicated thoughts. She felt suddenly lost when the class came to an end. Rehydration with a cup of coffee was in order and cake if they had any in the café.

Holly appeared at her side. ‘Well done, are you coming on Thursday?’

‘Twice a week? Oh yes.’

That would be something else to fill her week up. It was harder than she had imagined, living on her own in a town where she knew no one, going from a busy job and busy life to being an unemployed writer. She sat by herself at a table, nearby the young mothers and two young dads from the class were clustered together. Others must have rushed off to their busy lives.

‘Oh chocolate cake, wish I could indulge.’

The woman who had helped her in the class appeared by her table.

‘Shall I join you.’

‘Oh yes’ said Charlotte, pathetically glad, like a new girl at school.

‘Jenny, I’ve been coming for years. Are you new in Hambourne?’

‘Yes, since a couple of weeks ago.’

‘What brought you here?’

She groaned inwardly, that was the trouble with friendly people, they were naturally curious.

‘Oh er a change, getting away from it all.’

‘On your own?’

‘Yes, my daughter thinks I’m mad to move so far without a job to go to.’

‘Where did you work?’

‘At the airport.’

‘Which airport?’

The question took Charlotte by surprise, but of course she was a long way from London now.

‘Heathrow.’

‘Oh how glamourous and exciting,’

Her job wasn’t at all exciting and certainly not glamorous, but she realised she did miss it. However, she had no intention of revealing her actual job or much about her life.

‘There is a great buzz working there, but tell me about Hambourne, I literally stuck a pin in a map of England, got on a train and loved what I saw.’

‘It is indeed a lovely place, I left and came back again. Of course it is rather a strange town…’

You can read The Hambourne Chronicles in my collection Hallows and Heretics.