Tuesday Tiny Tale – Florida Quay

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Florida Key stood on the quay and gazed across the river with pride. He had just taken over the ferry that crossed the river. His family had worked the crossing for generations, centuries perhaps, since the days of rowing over a few locals in a fishing boat. The Key family still held the licence, proud of their professional and safe record for the one minute crossing.

Though the crossing was short, skill was still involved, taking the tide into account, heading downstream before swinging round to tie up at the little wooden jetty. Florida could steer close enough for passengers to disembark without mooring, but passengers liked the security of seeing a rope thrown over the wooden post.

Mr and Mrs Key had thought it amusing to name their first born Florida after conceiving him on a memorable holiday in Florida Keys. Now he decided to use this to his advantage in rebranding and upgrading the ferry experience. He erected bright new signage FLORIDA QUAYS on both river banks. After a torrential downpour the nature reserve side of the river acquired a few ponds and swampy areas which gave him an idea. He acquired some model alligators to hide in the water and the undergrowth, they attracted more attention when he ordered some body parts from Amazon. Children gasped in fright when they spotted a hand or foot sticking out of an alligator’s jaws.

Florida’s next idea was heritage ferry crossings. A new display board, on the town side of the river, displayed digitalised blown up images from the tiny black and white photos in the family album of ancestors rowing humble wooden boats. Florida would row people across while his sister captained the motor boat. He had never rowed a boat before, but how hard could it be, people rowed up and down the river all the time, all he had to do was row across it. With his mates’ help they hauled a rowing boat out of the old boat house.

If the crossings were a success, he might do short pleasure trips down the river to the beach beside the narrow channel where sea worthy boats made their way out. The larger ferries that took passengers up and down the river were owned by a rival company.

The first couple of crossings went well on an incoming tide. The passengers enjoyed the occasional splash from the oars, which made the experience more realistic and several said it was a shame the trip was so short, though it was slower and longer than the motorboat.

In the afternoon a strong wind had blown up and the tide was outgoing. His sister suggested they just stick with the motor boat, but children waiting on the town quay were eager to get to the other side to see the alligators and to get splashed in the rowing boat.

As Florida rowed out there was more of a drag on the oars and the wooden jetty looked further away than usual.

‘Are we going on an adventure?’ squealed one excited boy.

‘No, not today, we’re going to swing round and head for the jetty now.’

But somehow Florida could not turn the boat and the further they drifted downstream the more he forgot which way you did the oars to turn round. When they swept round the bend and the beach hove into view, Florida had an idea, or rather a desperate plan. He just needed to run aground on the sand before reaching the sign on the beach that warned against swimming because of the fast currents in the channel.

‘Okay, we’ll have a little adventure and land on the beach.’

The children cheered while a mother felt under the narrow seat for non existent life jackets and an uncle started tapping into his phone with the vague memory that 999 could also summon the coastguard.

The river current became stronger and took Florida by surprise. His efforts to hang onto the right oar caused him to wrench the ageing oarlock off.

The uncle was unused to making 999 calls and the stress of wondering if they might also need police, fire brigade and ambulance caused him to get confused as to their location. The operator wanted more information than ‘in a boat’ – they were on holiday, so it was not surprising he had no idea what the river was called. The operator thus had no idea that there was an RNLI inshore lifeboat station a short distance away. Fortunately they were doing an exercise and could not avoid noticing an old wooden boat being swept along the channel and out to sea.

When Florida’s sister returned from getting a takeaway coffee, she was surprised to see the motorboat still moored and no sign of her brother or the rowing boat. She wondered if it was wasting the time of the emergency services to dial 999.

When the lifeboat landed all the passengers at the life boat station there was great excitement among the children.

‘Can we go round again, that was fun.’

Florida wondered if it would be okay to ask if they could go back out and rescue his rowing boat, but before he could ask, the coxswain beckoned him into a small, but impressive coms room.

‘Now Sir, I am obliged to offer you some seafaring advice, which I shall do while we wait for the police to arrive.’

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Odd Shoes

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I always wanted to be famous, an actress probably, but then I had a better idea, I would become a newsreader. Just as famous, in people’s homes every night, regular work, short hours and best of all, I would be able to sit behind a big desk. Nobody would see my legs and hips, not my best feature and I certainly would not have to do any nude scenes. And I would not have to learn any lines, just read from the autocue.

I practised in front of the mirror… and in tonight’s news… serious face, serious tragedy face, reassuring expression, Royalty voice, lighten up with cheerful final item…

‘As many as three thousand people are feared dead in… the King and Queen met a 117 year old veteran today when they visited…   the Coastguard and lifeboats are still searching for three people missing after their… A Jack Russell terrier named Lucky had a lucky escape when he fell over five hundred feet off Beachy Head and landed in an RNLI lifeboat searching for three missing people…’

It transpired that there is more to being a newsreader than I thought, but I made it… local news, national lunchtime news, main evening news! Someone to do my hair and makeup, different smart jacket or blouse every evening and I was soon a well known name. Under the desk I could wear my bunny slippers and what my husband called my pyjama trousers, but what I called lounge wear. Then one day the producer called a meeting.

The evening news was going to be revamped, the desk would be no more. We would walk around pausing now and then to look commanding. How would I walk, read the autocue and look intelligent all at the same time… and what on earth would I wear?

Luckily my brother is a drag queen, not a profession I or my parents ever thought would be useful, but he came round to offer advice. Picking out a couple of pairs, my only pairs, of smart trousers and a dress and two skirts, he put his hands on his hips and said ‘Now all you need is a decent pair of high heels.’

‘I don’t wear heels, I don’t possess any high heels.’

‘No problem, you can borrow a pair of mine.’

‘Won’t they be too big?’

‘Just stuff some tissues in the toes, it’s only for half an hour.’

Monday evening launch and I’m at the studio back door waiting for my brother who had promised to bring the shoes on his way to his show. He had assured me he would choose his most conservative pair with the shortest heels. With minutes to spare I rushed to my dressing room and opened the shoe box. Black, good, four inch heels oh dear. I stared at them, I was unused to wearing such shoes, but even I could tell something was not right, what was odd about them? Something was right, both shoes were right! He had so many pairs of shoes, presumably lots of similar pairs and rushing around getting his dresses ready he did not notice his mistake.

I had no choice but to wear them, I was expecting them to be uncomfortable anyway, so what difference would it make. Out in the corridor I steadied myself against the wall. My producer said ‘You look lovely, whoops, politically incorrect, you look very professional. Oh by the way, we have got breaking news, no idea what or where, keep your eyes on the autocue and listen on your earpiece for updates.’

I tottered over to the prearranged starting point, my feet in agony already and my earpiece buzzing with the producer’s mumblings and urgent hissings. I peered at the autocue, but I was not used to this angle.

‘…and we start tonight with breaking news from … how on earth is that pronounced…

‘Start walking across’ hissed my producer.

I couldn’t even think which foot to put forward first and they hadn’t told me I had to walk up steps…

My leg became the breaking news…

Tuesday Tale – The Tree

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Charlotte is trying to get on with writing her new novel and hoping for inspiration for strange situations to get Lottie Lincoln into, but it is Charlotte who faces a strange situation.

‘Have you visited the tree yet?’ asked Myrtle.

Charlotte had been invited in for a cup of tea by her elderly next door neighbour. She had seen plenty of trees on her walks by the River Ham. Late spring and they were at their best, fresh green leaves bursting with new life. Among the people she had met living by or enjoying the river, none had mentioned a particular tree.

‘What tree?’

‘The Hambourne Oak of course, hmm, perhaps I should not have spoken out of turn, only locals know about it and newcomers are not told unless they are worthy.’

Charlotte was not sure whether to be honoured Myrtle had told her or disconcerted that Myrtle thought she should not have revealed the secret.

‘I won’t tell a soul Myrtle, your secret is safe with me. I have been reading all the local books about Hambourne, so interesting, but never any reference to the oak tree.’

‘You won’t read about the Hambourne Oak anywhere. No one knows how old she is, the important thing is that you must introduce yourself politely to her then she will protect you.’

Charlotte had not imagined Myrtle to be a tree hugger and though she was an older lady, she surely she had not been brought up in a time of myths. Still, her curiosity was aroused and this sounded like inspiration for the next Lottie Lincoln adventure in her WIP, work in progress, though she was making little progress…

‘Protection against what?’

‘Who knows, anything can happen in Hambourne, strange things have always happened here.’

‘Well when Robert Falstaff from the writers’ group I had joined was found murdered with his hands chopped off, that was certainly strange!’

‘Exactly and he was not a local, nor was he liked much so I imagine he had never been told to meet the tree.’

‘So where is this oak tree.’

‘I can’t tell you that dear, the whole point is to find it for yourself, which you will if she wants you to find her.’

‘How will I know, trees all look much the same to me, I mean I know what an oak tree looks like, but how would I recognise a special one?’

‘You will know when you see it, but on no account carve your name upon her, only Hambourne born may do that.’

Charlotte was intrigued with that information, a tree trunk with names carved for generations should be easy to spot.

‘Just tie ribbons in your colours.’

‘I don’t think I have my own colours.’

‘You must have, everyone has a colour of their own.’

The next day, Charlotte walked down the lane to the river and set off along the river bank in the opposite direction to the Ham Way. After a night of strange dreams about trees she was uncertain whether to believe Myrtle, a rational person would just laugh. She told herself all she was doing was investigating the other side of the river and enjoying fresh air and exercise before getting down to writing. In her pocket was the pound coin for the Ham ferry. She soon spotted a green flag and a few people standing on a wooden jetty. A small motor boat was making its way towards the jetty. As she drew closer she could see the flag bore the motif of an oak tree, was that a clue?

The captain or boatman, whatever one called him, deftly flung a rope loop over a wooden post and pulled in close enough for his passengers to climb out, without securing the other end of the boat.

‘See you later’ he waved them on their way. Charlotte guessed they were from the village of Little Hambourne, off to enjoy the comprehensive attractions of the town of Hambourne.

The boatman turned his attention to those waiting on the jetty.

‘Any news yet?’

‘No, nothing’ they shook their heads.

‘Sorry to hear that, if there’s anything me and Cis can do…’

Charlotte felt herself a real outsider. The few minutes it took to cross the river were spent in silence, she was intrigued to know whatever was happening, but unlikely to find out. She perched awkwardly on the narrow bench feeling her presence an intrusion. Remarks about the nice day or the pleasure of being on the river, would be out of place.

At the other side the rope was slipped over a rickety post and the boatman motioned for her to get off first. She would have to clamber unsteadily out under the watchful eyes of everyone.

As she turned to thank him and hand her coin over he said ‘Be sure not to miss the last ferry at five thirty and don’t get lost in the woods.’

He smiled for the first time and she was sure the other passengers caught his eye and smirked.

Charlotte chose the path along the bank, she was not letting the river out of her sight and resisted the temptation to turn and see if the others were following. She hoped she was setting a confident pace and after ten minutes stopped to take a sip of her water and admire the view, while glancing back to see if she was being followed. Not a soul in sight and soon it was obvious why no one else had taken this path as it petered out. At some stage the river bank had collapsed into the river, she would either have to turn back or follow the narrow track into the woods. She determined to wander a little way to see where it went then return. Birds were singing, though she could not see them in the thick foliage and the woodland floor littered with centuries of leaves had a unique scent. Though she had only ventured a few yards she felt she was in the depth of the woods. She must relax and enjoy the moment, forest bathing, she closed her eyes.

When she opened them she was standing under the oak tree. Was this really the Hambourne Oak? It was festooned with ribbons and dangling ornaments and a closer look revealed many names carved and various symbols, though nothing as common as a heart to link names.

‘Good Day, I’m Charlotte from Hounslow.’

Did she say that out loud? The tree looked down at her with a dignified stillness, there was no breeze to ruffle her leaves. She touched the ancient bark with one hand then both, not a tree hugger yet. The mighty oak was much too vast to hug.

A crackle of twigs startled her, then she detected movement on the other side of the trunk. Her first instinct was to run back to the river, but she pictured herself tripping over a tree root and lying helpless… she paused and a man stepped out, scruffy appearance but familiar.

‘Sorry, I thought I was alone.’

‘Danny, Daniel Worth?’

He did not seem to recognise her.

‘Charlotte from Hambourne Creative Writers…’

He looked more nervous than she was so she felt emboldened to speak again.

‘You have been reported missing.’

‘Do I look like I’m missing? I came to talk to the tree. Don’t look so scared, I’m not a murderer.’

Any illusion Charlotte had that she was handling this cool and calmly, like those heroines on TV dramas, were shattered.

‘I did not kill Robert Falstaff’ he said in a strong voice that did scare her.

This was turning into a plot she had not even imagined for Lottie Lincoln, what would Lottie say or do?

‘Nor did I, so the only way to prove our innocence is to find out who did.’

Tuesday Teeny Tale – Big Ideas

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Aero had waited eons since he put in his application, or so it seemed. Had it been thrown straight in the bin, were the Upper Council laughing at his ideas? He had been naively pleased with himself for thinking of an original project for his thesis. If his idea worked, few would be interested in an experiment in an outer sector hardly anyone had heard of, but the upside of that was that failure, even accidental destruction, would not bother many. Still, he must be positive, if his idea worked perfectly he could apply for bigger projects in one of the inner sectors. Aero did not want to be stuck forever like his parents, caretakers for this remote part. For generations his family had cherished their responsibility for the growing community, the only surviving community in this sector. Experiments had been carried out, there had been the demise of an early community, followed by the extinction of another, but new life always followed.

Aero was nervous in front of the great board.

‘I have read your application, but I want to hear you summarise it in plain language.’

‘Our humble little sector is due to be demolished because of numerous failures in its past history, but while I know my voice cannot stop its destruction, I think we should take advantage of the opportunity to conduct an experiment which could then be applied to more important sectors.

My plan would be to shuffle the planets around and expand the solar system at the same time. The attempts by the colony to escape from the solar system have become more frequent and if they ever succeeded it would cause chaos in other galaxies.’

‘Which is precisely why we have scheduled the solar system for urgent demolition. However, some members of the board find your ideas rather amusing, so we will retire for a few eons to consider our decision.’

Sunday Saunter – Tail End

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Where are we going?

Can we find our way in?

The Saddest Tale

I found 33 out of 45 mermaids’ tails, nearly three quarters, then ran out of time, though some were way off my bus or walking routes anyway. Some people apparently snapped them all on the first day! There was plenty for children to do at the farewell event, from games to painting their own tails. The whole event must have taken a lot of planning and a lot of artists. The final part will see all the tails auctioned off.

https://www.juliashouse.org/tail-trail/events/farewell-event

Saturday Stroll – Steep Steps

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Hop off the bus and walk up to the West Cliff.

Stop to catch your breath and admire the view.

Onwards and upwards

Highcliff Hotel, popular with politicians attending party conferences.

Not another mermaid tail!

Time to go down to the beach.

Take the cliff lift…

…or perhaps not…

Follow in the footsteps of our leaders as they walk from their hotel to the Bournemouth International Centre.

Look for another mermaid tail.

This is your clue where to see the gathering of all the mermaid tails before they are auctioned off.