wills

Halloween Hijinks

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‘Have you found it yet?’

‘No, a box of paperbacks, destined to be Christmas presents I expect, at least we have avoided yet another new novel.’

‘So, what’s in that drawer?’

‘More folders full of writing.’

‘Oh goodness, she told me she was going to leave her intellectual property to me… and all her manuscripts!’

‘Ha ha Sis, have you seen what’s in the loft?’

‘Lucky you Sis, most authors are only successful after they have died, so maybe you’ll make some money.’

‘At least she went the way she would have liked, freak accident trying to take pictures for her blog.’

‘How do you know it was an accident, she could have been pushed.’

‘Ha ha, by another jealous blogger?’

‘However it happened at least it was dramatic, she did say to me one day ‘If I’m found dead I do not want headlines in the local news saying ‘Pensioner found dead’ make sure it’s ‘Mystery Death of Author.’

‘She was certainly intending to be home soon, her computer’s still logged in to WordPress, looks like she was in the middle of writing a blog… hmmm Halloween story. We could publish it and no one would be any the wiser that she was dead, that’s if anyone actually reads her blog.’

‘It would be a sort of tribute if her Halloween story still went out.’

‘Yup, the word document is open as well so it would be her genuine writing.’

‘And in the unlikely event that any reader had heard she had died, they would think her ghost had written it!’

‘Okay, you do the blog then and I’ll go on searching for her will.’

Thursday Tiny Tale -Last Words

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Where can it be?

Goodness knows, we’ve looked in all the likely places, but there’s so much junk stuffed everywhere.

Don’t sneer, could be valuables hiding amongst the rubbish.

Ah ha, this could be interesting, Diary 1949 …

’I am determined to write in this every day, so many exciting things happening to me at the moment. Tricia had a new year’s party and her brother chatted to me!!! He is going to call me on our new telephone.’

Oh no, that’s all she wrote, bet he didn’t phone her.

Here’s a hopeful looking envelope…

‘To my grandchildren’

Bad luck on that front Mum…

Open it then.

‘I know everything is electronic now, but newspapers are a wonderful record of everyday life. I saved a newspaper from every eventful day starting with the day Giles was born right up to William and Catherine’s royal wedding; if you’re doing a school project or even a history degree they could come in handy.’

Oh that would be interesting, a newspaper from the day I was born…

Bad luck Giles, we put all those boxes of papers in the recycling bin when we tackled the loft, anyway, you can look them up on line…

Now this envelope looks a lot more hopeful.

‘If you find a pair of pink gloves I bought them on holiday. I remember taking them out of my suitcase, then I never saw them again.’

Perhaps she wasn’t joking when she said there was a secret drawer in that awful old bureau.

Oh look, our homemade birthday cards…

Never mind those, get a tape measure and work out if there’s a false back, or feel around for some secret levers.

We’re not taking it to Antiques Roadshow, let’s try that small panel with a screwdriver.

Well I never, why would she leave a letter to me hidden away?

Open it then, don’t keep us in suspense.

‘My Darling Giles, you always wanted to know the truth; the truth about your father.  I’m afraid I have to tell you, hard though it will be to come to terms, my husband was your father and the father of your younger brothers. I know he was very boring, but I’m afraid I did not have an affair with some splendidly exotic chap, goodness knows where you get your good looks from.

Oh at last, you’re no better than us Darling Giles, even if you were Mum’s favourite.

But is that it then, what happened to

‘All will be revealed in the house when I’m gone.’

She said that about ten years ago, probably forgot to leave the clues.

Now we’re getting somewhere –

 Last Will and Testament

Thought she said she wasn’t going to leave one.

Perhaps that’s the surprise we were supposed to get. Right, let’s open it

WH Smith make your own will kit

She never filled it in…

Friday Flash Fiction – Therapups

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I had never heard of the charity Therapups, nor had Google, but one of my late aunt’s dog loving friends sent me the postal address. Aunty had requested no flowers for her funeral, just a donation to her favourite charity. I sent a small cheque and a brief letter with my address included, requesting the next copy of their newsletter, which was apparently going to feature a tribute to my aunt.

A week later I received a hefty envelope, almost a parcel, with a gushing letter thanking me for my generosity. The newsletter was to follow shortly, but in the meantime they were pleased to send me a Therapups key ring with dog whistle attached and one hundred biodegradable poop bags in a designer carry case; all in the distinctive charity colours puce pink and sunflower yellow. I don’t own a dog, but they weren’t to know that. Also included was a colourful booklet explaining the charity’s work; it seems they provided therapy and assistance dogs not covered by other better known charities.


I was quite impressed, Therapups gave every dog an opportunity to make a contribution whether they were a St. Bernard with shopping panniers or a handbag sized ball of fluff you cuddled to calm your nerves. The newsletter duly arrived and gave more enlightenment as to my aunt’s contribution; who would have guessed her knitting skills would have been put to such good use or her Aloe Vera plant stand at the annual fete so popular? It was even more of a surprise to learn that her bad tempered terrier mix, who drove the neighbours mad with his constant yapping, had been a ‘wonderful therapy dog whose sad passing at the age of nineteen left an unfillable gap in Thelma’s life, undoubtably leading to her untimely demise weeks later at the age of ninety nine.’

Enclosed with the dozen copies of the newsletter was a puce pink and sunflower yellow picture frame with an unflattering photo of Aunt Thelma surrounded by half a dozen very ugly puppies. I wrote once more to thank them and promised to pass the newsletters to the rest of the family, though what I would do with the remaining seven copies I had no idea.

A week later another parcel arrived with a dozen Therapup calendars and an apologetic note… ‘I know it’s May already, but hopefully we all need calendars now we’re on the roadmap to Covid Recovery.’ I did not get around to replying or hanging a calendar up; I got the impression from the pictures on the calendar that they took the dogs no other charity wanted.



I was surprised the next week to receive yet another parcel from Therapups, a strange pink and yellow object which turned out to be a folding water bowl. I gave it to a dog owning friend. It was barely a week later when another package arrived; a paperback biography of the founder of Therapups. By now the charity had spent more on postage alone than I had given them in the first place, but it wasn’t hard to guess that they were expecting more from me. Enclosed were direct debit forms for regular contributors and leaflets on their free will writing service. I put them all in the recycling bin; I had little prospect of much money, now or after my death. Friends had expected Aunt Thelma to leave me her run down, but valuable house. She left her house and possessions and £57.37 all to Therapups.
They were not put off by my lack of response and further gifts left me wondering if they thought I was in need of a therapy dog. I received a yellow and pink rug for my wheelchair and dachshund shaped herbal wheat bag for chronic pain. My latest gift is a cuddly sunflower yellow toy puppy, far more handsome than their real dogs and I have to confess he is rather a comfort and I even sneak him into work.