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ISSUE 225 Date: 24th February 2012

Words

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ments

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shops

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Poetry

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What is World Book Day?

World Book Day is, like it sounds, a global celebration!

It’s a celebration of authors, books and most importantly it

shows what’s great about reading.

It’s the biggest celebration of its kind, designated by

UNESCO as a worldwide celebration of books and reading,

and is acknowledged in over 100 countries.

2012 is the 15th year of World Book Day, and on 1st

March children globally will come together to appreciate

the benefits of reading and the rewards of literature.

The main aim of World Book Day in the UK and Ireland is

to encourage children to explore the pleasures of books

and reading by providing them with the opportunity to have

a book of their own via a token scheme.

One in Three children in

11 wards in London Bor-

oughs start secondary

school with a reading age

of a seven-year-old.

In one area of Croydon it is

one in every two children.

Statistics for 2011 demon-

strate nearly 8,000 children

in the capital are on the

road to being functionally

illiterate.

One in

thre

e te

enag

ers

reads tw

o b

oo

ks o

r few

er a

year

Seven p

er c

ent o

f child

ren n

ever re

ad o

uts

ide th

e c

lassro

om

Issue 225

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Thoughts & Quotes ...

If you go looking for a friend, you‘re going to find they‘re very scarce. If you go out to be a friend,

you‘ll find them everywhere. ~ Zig Ziglar

Death is for a long time. Those of shallow thought say that it is forever. There is, at least, a long

night of it. There is the forgetfulness and the loss of identity. The spirit, even as the body, is unstrung

and burst and scattered. One goes down to death, and it leaves a mark on one forever. R. A. Lafferty

Nothing is too small. I counsel you, put down in record even your doubts and surmises. Hereafter it

may be of interest to you to see how true you guess. We learn from failure, not from success! ~ Bram

Stoker ~

Since, in the long run, every planetary society will be endangered by impacts from space, every sur-

viving civilization is obliged to become spacefaring — not because of exploratory or romantic zeal,

but for the most practical reason imaginable: staying alive. ~ Carl Sagan ~

All we have to believe with is our senses, the tools we use to perceive the world: our sight, our touch,

our memory. If they lie to us, then nothing can be trusted. And even if we do not believe, then still

we cannot travel in any other way than the road our senses show us; and we must walk that road to

the end. ~ Neil Gaiman in American Gods

There are plenty of good reasons for fighting, but no good reason ever to hate without reservation, to

imagine that God Almighty Himself hates with you, too. Where's evil? It's that large part of every

man that wants to hate without limit, that wants to hate with God on its side. ~ Kurt Vonnegut

A law of nature is not a formula drawn up by a legislator, but a mere summary of the observed facts

— a "bundle of facts." Things do not act in a particular way because there is a law, but we state the

"law" because they act in that way. ~ Joseph McCabe

Since love grows within you, so beauty grows. For love is the beauty of the soul. Augustine of Hippo

Culture is the widening of the mind and of the spirit. It is never a narrowing of the mind or a restric-

tion of the human spirit or the country's spirit. ~ Jawaharlal Nehru

We need not think alike to love alike. ~ Ferenc Dávid

Some anarchists have claimed not merely that we would be better off without a state, but that any

state necessarily violates people's moral rights and hence is intrinsically immoral. Our starting point

then, though nonpolitical, is by intention far from nonmoral. Moral philosophy sets the background

for, and boundaries of, political philosophy. What persons may and may not do to one another limits

what they may do through the apparatus of a state, or do to establish such an apparatus. Robert

Nozick

Let us have Men, Men who will say a word to their souls and keep it — keep it not when it is easy,

but keep it when it is hard — keep it when the storm roars and there is a white-streaked sky and blue

thunder before, and one's eyes are blinded and one's ears deafened with the war of opposing things;

and keep it under the long leaden sky and the gray dreariness that never lifts. Hold unto the last: that

is what it means to have a Dominant Idea, which Circumstance cannot break. And such men make

and unmake Circumstance. ~ Voltairine de Cleyre

There are people. There are stories. The people think they shape the stories, but the reverse is often

closer to the truth. ~ Alan Moore

I am trying to do two things: dare to be a radical and not a fool, which is a matter of no small diffi-

culty. ~ James A. Garfield (Source material Wikiquote)

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LIFE OBSERVATIONS The February sunshine is welcome, stirring all living things into new life.

What I didn't expect was the first ice cream man on his noisy rounds.

One should not ask what is the meaning of life. Ask rather what

meaning will you give to it.

―A man's ethical behaviour should be based effectually on sympathy, education, and social ties; no religious basis is nec-

essary. Man would indeed be in a poor way if he had to be restrained by fear of punishment and hope of reward after

death.‖ Albert Einstein

Before being judgemental of the behaviour of others one does well to consider the process of sitting in judgement as it

says more about that person than the one being so judged.

So the hypocrisy of council prayers is, or isn‘t, being banned! Those few wasted minutes of pointless ceremonial were

great for those wishing to finish off the last few drags on their fags before entering the chamber late. How satisfying to

be fully nicotined up ready to endure the tedium of hours of political slanging matches, where soul-sanctified buffoons

puff out their buttons to enjoy the sound of their own voices.

Is there anything more annoying than waiting in line at a supermarket checkout behind a person who is having a conver-

sation on their phone rather than emptying their trolley.

―Non-stick‖ pans ... Sigh!

Plan ahead. Stay fit. Don‘t listen to critics. Sometimes amateurs do things better than professionals. Travel in pairs.

Build on solid foundations and on high ground. Speed isn‘t always the answer.

We all have to survive on the same ball of rock. When stressed it‘s okay to float for a while.

Sentience wasn‘t a gift.

ASSIGNMENT: Lent or Sweets (400 words)

Random Words: Agatha, murmurings, sweating, jelly, relish, receptacle, news-

paper, gentlemen (150 words)

Don’t forget the cryptic clues ... 20 words. (please enclose answer)

limpid adj

Clear, particularly transparent or bright.

billow v

To surge or roll in undulating waves.

To swell out or bulge, as in billowing sails

vector n

(mathematics): A directed quantity, with both magnitude and direction.

A chosen course or direction for motion, as of an aircraft.

(medicine): A carrier of a disease-causing agent.

rustic adj

Country-styled or pastoral; rural.

Rough, crude.

hydroplane v

To skim the surface of a body of water while moving at high speed.

sesquicentennial adj

Occurring every 150 years.

Of, or relating to a 150 year anniversary.

oeuvre n

The complete body of work created by an artist or writer.

equipoise n

A state of balance; equilibrium.

A counterbalance.

Thanks to a Facebook Friend

CLIVE‘s three free e-books

NOW PUBLISHED on RBW and issuu

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=52

http://issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

Issue 225

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Steph‘s FREE poetry e-chapbook is now published on www.issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

and on RBW main site

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=52

The chapbook is illustrated by some of her original artwork.

She is a member of Stafford Art Group and has exhibited some pieces locally.

POETRY AT THE FILM THEATRE College Rd, Stoke, ST4 2EF

Wednesday, 4th April, 2012, 7pm - 10pm

Jo Bell, Peter Branson and John Lindley, with Roger Elkin, W. Terry Fox, Gill McEvoy,

Andrew Rudd, ‗Trentvale Poet‘, Phil Williams, John Williams & Joy Winkler

plus ‗open mic.‘ and music from ‗Parish Lantern‘ and ‗Roaring Owls‘

Drinks available from 7pm and during the interval. Tickets: £4.00

For ticket info, contact: p_branson@sky.com or 01270 883410

or just send a cheque, (pay ‗Poetry at the Film Theatre‘), to:

‗Poetry at the Film Theatre‘, c/o Peter Branson, ‗Ash House‘, 226 Sandbach Rd,

Rode Heath, Nr Alsager, Stoke-on-Trent, ST7 3SB

(Your reserved tickets will be available at the box office from 7pm.)

All ticket proceeds to Cystic Fibrosis

The tunes of Gaia (AB)

The wind is free, waves roll in hour by hour, water and sails turn wheels. The sun shines down, the earth smiles listening to the tunes of Gaia.

Issue 225

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CATHARSIS

Mystery (CMH)

We‘d gone, Allan and me, to see the concert at the old camp that had been turned into an outdoor museum.

Nothing special you might say, just a load of pop singers and musicians creatin‘ a row and scarin‘ the animals

for miles around. O‘course we‘d gone to meet a whole load of other folks and have a party. Well that‘s the way

of it when you‘re having fun. A few drinks, some dancing, sex if you‘re lucky, nothin‘ out o‘ the ordinary.

Well nothin‘ until folks kept disappearin‘ that is! You‘d turn to say somethin‘ to somebody and when you

turned back, they‘d gone. Didn‘t recognise it at first. Not until the army came in anyway. A load of blokes, all

in camo kit with rifles and everythin‘.

They didn‘t start orderin‘ folks; about just made it difficult for you to go where you wanted. Then the loud-

speakers said that there was a ―Special Show‖, a one off, over at the old garages and we‘d drifted in that direc-

tion with a whole crowd of folks. There was a big tent effort set up and some bloke shoutin‘ that the show was

due in a few minutes and would we get in close to let more folks see. The blokes in uniform started to herd

folks along a bit then.

Allan and me wanted to go to the bogs, which where over the other side of the camp. They was the best

ones about. We knew that ‗cos we‘d been there before, worked on the changes in fact. We knew our way

around there like nobody else, so we slipped, quiet like, into the shrubbery, and went off to go to the best bogs.

As we came out in one of the picnic areas, we spotted a bloke in camo gear givin‘ Jackie, one of our girl

friends, a real hard time. She didn‘t want to go where he told her to and she was tellin‘ him about it. Givin‘ him

some verbal, you might say. She couldn‘t do anythin‘ else ‗cos he had her arm up behind her back and when

she did jerk herself free he hit her with the butt of his rifle. Allan wasn‘t havin‘ any of that so he hit the soldier

with a fence post from a handy pile. Smacked him around the head a good wallop that put him down with a

thump. Rifle one way and Jackie the other.

He must have been raving because he didn‘t scarper like I‘d have done. No, he picks up the rifle and took

the mag out, worked the action like he knew what he was doin‘, and turned the bloke over. This bloke didn‘t

have a face, not a proper face, just a sort of oval where it should have been.

By this time, Jackie was on her feet again. She was a nurse of some kind but this gave her a shock as well.

She stood there for a few seconds and then said, ―Well it‘s not human whatever it is.‖ Then she bent down and

touched the thing. ―No pulse, no temperature, no vital signs, no face. Not alive. Drag it out of sight Allan and

let‘s get out of here.‖

That girl is tough with a capital T.

Allan proved to be an icy cold bloke. He dragged the thing out of sight alright, but he stripped it first and

put the camo gear and equipment on. It was all new stuff, straight out of the packet; that‘s what had got me in

the first place. You don‘t see a whole unit all in new kit, there‘s bound to be some that‘s been washed and al-

tered to fit better. It was getting on towards evening so there wasn‘t much light about but there was enough to

see that Jackie was right. Whatever it was wasn‘t alive nor was it human.

Allan sort of took charge at that point. ―Off the tracks and into the undergrowth, move as quietly as you

can, I‘ll be in front of you somewhere. If I yell run, you run. We‘ll make our way to the old keepers lodge;

there‘s a door there that they may have overlooked. Whatever you do, don‘t go in until we‘ve had a good scout

around. No use running from one problem to land in another.‖ He told us. Like I said, a cold bloke, but one to

have on your side if the crap hits the fan.

We crept through the woods stopping only to scrag another of those “things” and pinch its kit. This one

didn‘t show as dead as the other did, it was still moving. You could tell that Jackie was scared, but she got out

that knife bayonet thing that it had been carrying and cut it up.

―It‘s not going to tell anybody anything without a head,‖ she said. Then she frightened me to death. She

quietly sat on the ground with that knife in her hand cutting away at it, like it was a chicken or something.

The head came of although we had to give it a whack to get it off, then the arms and legs. They came off a

lot easier. The blood wasn‘t red like ours; it smelled more of diesel fuel and was a brownish colour. Another

uniform for us; Jackie got that one. Another rifle, I got that and its ammo. Allan said it was funny. They had up-

to-date uniforms but out-of-date weapons. The SLR had gone out some years ago but here these blokes where,

waving them about like they where new.

Eventually we did reach the old lodge, but not before we‘d put a real serious crimp in the plans of whatever.

The main electrical supply came in under the fence and into a distribution building. More a blockhouse than

anything, it was a cast concrete building with lovely thick steel doors. The emergency keys where just where

we‘d left them so getting in wasn‘t a problem. Disabling the alarm even less, they hadn‘t even changed the

codes.

A large red button stood on a panel. When I pushed it, there was a lovely subdued clunking sound from the

breakers and all the lights went out. Apart from a small battery powered working light in with us, the entire

compound was dark and powerless. Snatching out the main supply fuses was a few seconds work and resealing

the box a few more. For spite, I took the fuses out of a few more of the circuits and locked off the floodlights.

With any luck, they‘d think it was a power cut or something. We took the keys, fuses and the emergency kit

with us.

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On our way to the lodge, we ran into more of the “things”. These where immobile and so we took the op-

portunity to make sure they didn‘t get mobile again. Push it over if still standing then an axe from the emer-

gency kit through the neck took care of that. More uniforms, one that more or less fitted me, and more ammo.

The rifles we broke by chucking the moving parts away and hammering a bullet the wrong way into the barrel.

Half way through the woods I remembered that some of the CCTV camera‘s on the wall had their own

power supplies but I also knew that some of them where dummies.

―Let‘s hope you remember which ones are the dummies,‖ Allan said. ―Otherwise up les creek sans paddle

won‘t even begin to cover it.‖

That was when the explosions started. There were a series of loud pops not too far behind us. That cool

dude Allan passed it off by saying, ―Self destruct timers on those “things” I should think‖, and then there was

an almighty crump away over at the site of that special event. ―Doesn‘t like being without power whatever it is.

That may bring the authorities but I wouldn‘t bet on it. They may think it‘s just fireworks. We‘ve still got to get

out to make sure.‖

Somebody had helped us. Half the CCTV cameras were wrecked before we got there. Sometimes I could

get to love vandals. We just walked along hugging the inside of the fence until we reached the lodge. The old

cardboard boxes and other rubbish blown against the door showed that no one had entered in the last few

weeks. The cellar hatch, hidden unless you knew where it was, came up easily and we got under cover.

That was when the cool dude Allan showed he was human after all. He collapsed in a heap. Jackie was on

her knees by his side before I could reseat the hatch. He blinked and sat up, ‗See if you can find any water will

you? I‘m parched. A pint would be better but that‘s not on right now.‖

The inside of the lodge was as I‘d last seen it. Empty, both sets of shutters closed over the windows. Water

off, but we soon fixed that. Then we all went to inspect the toilet. It was an ancient chemical thing, bone dry of

course, that honked horrid but did the job. Looking in the packs we‘d liberated from the “things”, we found

something that may have been food, not that we‘d try it, and a variety of things like cups and something like a

multipurpose tool. The water, when it had run clear, was great.

―Right folks, we‘ve got this far, the next leap of faith takes us outside the fence. There‘s an old door in the

wall not far from here. It was in rubbish condition last time I saw it so we should be able to get out.‖ Allan the

Cool was back with a vengeance.

Some one had also thought the gate was rubbish and built a brick wall on the outside of it. ‗That‘s that,

now we‘ll have to go through the main entrance, and they‘ll have that covered,‘ was Allan‘s remark.

‗Let‘s not panic for a minute,‘ I said. ‗This hasn‘t been long done.‘ Sure enough it had been a rush job and

the mortar wasn‘t set. A few whacks with a rifle butt and a few hefty kicks and a hole appeared. A hole we

crawled through dragging the door closed behind us.

As Allan said, ‗There‘s no point in leaving too many clues behind us.‘

By now, it was too dark to see properly. The only light, a rosy glow, came from streetlights nearby. That

was enough for us to make our way to the nearest house, empty of course, but the next-door neighbours had a

phone we used, eventually.

‗Are you sure, Sir?‘ The policeman who answered the phone asked. ‗We‘ve not had a call from the museum

office.‘

‗Well you wouldn‘t, would you? Not with all the power out after an explosion. If the staff survived, they‘ll

be too busy treating the injured. That bang wasn‘t fireworks it was something much bigger than that. There

where some soldiers there, at least they had Army uniforms on, and loaded rifles and they may have had an ac-

cident with something.‘

‗Loaded rifles, sir? How do you know they were loaded?‘ he asked.

‗Normal Army procedure, constable, normal procedure, just the same as the Police use.

Rule one: you only put a magazine on a weapon if it‘s loaded.

Rule two: any weapon with a magazine fitted is assumed to be loaded unless proven otherwise.

As a back up to that we‘ve also had the chance to get a good look at a couple of them, they where definitely

loaded with 7.62 mil ball cartridge. And yes I DO know what I‘m talking about; I‘m a lieutenant in the TAVR.‘

The copper waffled for a bit longer and then said he‘d send somebody around to investigate. Allan wasn‘t

having any of that, as soon as the phone went down he phoned the Fire Brigade and the Ambulance Service

saying to us, ‗You can never have too much manpower.‘

After a quick cuppa he said, ‗I‘m going back into that compound. You up for it?‘

By the time, we got to the front entrance it was a sea of blue flashing lights, burning vehicles and some seri-

ous casualties. The “things” had opened fire on the emergency services, who, except for taking cover, could do

nothing about it.

‗We need some authority to open fire on that lot. The law says that the civil powers are supreme so we

need to get it from a copper. That copper over there will do nicely,‘ Allan said as we crawled along a ditch to-

wards the car park and a policeman hiding behind a tree nearby.

Once the copper had got over the jitters of finding armed men pointing rifles at his back, we had to be sure

that he wasn‘t one of them, he agreed that it was beyond civil control and that ‗The Army‘ could open fire. A

quick note from his pocket book and we were legal.

‗Where did those rifles come from,‘ he asked?

‗In there,‘ said Allan pointing to the compound. ‗The ammo came from the same place. If you want one

you‘d better come with us, otherwise organise some kind of evacuation from here before anyone else gets

hurt.‘ Explaining that there were only three men on duty that night, but that there would be a dozen or so along

in half an hour, he opted to get the mess sorted.

‗Just get the people out. Leave the kit, it can be replaced later. If those men in there open up with auto-

matic weapons it‘ll be a butchers shop out here.‘

Allan, very carefully, hadn‘t said that the ‖things‖ weren‘t human. Borrowing a radio, and some other stuff

from an injured fireman, Jackie fancied an axe and was disappointed that he hadn‘t got one, all three of us

went back to the door we‘d come out of.

Going through the undergrowth towards the Special Event tent there was no opposition until we reached

the point where we‘d scragged the first of the ―things‖. By this time we were well camouflaged with dirt and

bits of bush, it felt like taking part in a war film but we knew it wasn‘t. Just why we where there was some-

thing I thought about afterwards. A long time afterwards. It still scared me spitless.

The tent was surrounded by a fence and the ―things‖ were outside it pointing rifles into it. We could see

the ground littered with bodies. Not just single bodies, in places they were in piles three or four high. There

were also some more of the ―things‖ prowling around the outside of the fence and obviously looking for trou-

ble. They found it. Not from us, but from some-one else who‘d grabbed an opportunity to escape the round-up.

From our left there came a single shot and one of the ―things‖ exploded in an actinic burst of light, this

took two or three of its group with it and the night, anyway for a short while, was lit by the exploding aliens.

Whilst they were busy shooting back at the sniper Jackie and Allan took the opportunity to shoot a few more.

As Allan said later, ‗It was a nice little fire fight while it lasted, twelve or so for five rounds. Not a bad score.

It‘s a pity that we didn‘t know how to blow them up before though.‘

―Right then.‖ The interviewer, a high ranking police officer, said. ―That‘ll do for the first interview. I may

have some more questions later. By the way? What did happen to this Allan and Jackie you spoke about?‖

―Dunno. I was a bit busy, tryin‘ to get folks out of the place without getting shot, an‘ I lost track of ‗em.

The last time I saw ‗em they was headin‘ towards the woods at the back of the camp. You know I could do

with a coffee if there‘s any about?‖

Plot line for Magic Canyon

American mountain country. A canyon where time or world lines are mutable. The locals know/suspect that

things change without notice and keep clear. Outsiders can/do get lost. Sometimes strange folks come out;

nobody takes much notice if they do. There are a few locals, known as the 'Travel-wise', – possibly descen-

dants of the 'lost folks' [mutants?] – who can go into the area and almost guarantee to come out of it into the

same world/time, or if not exactly the same world-line then pretty close to it.

The story of a few days in the life of one of them. He happens to be a local deputy sheriff. His usual

partner isn't one of the 'travel-wise' and she has other things on her mind. Whilst chasing a robber into the can-

yon they run across a few anomalies.

Magic Canyon (CMH)

The call came on the radio, ‗Robbery at Almagordo Eatery at 1032 MST, suspects, two male, fled in a white

Chrysler pick-up, no other details. Vehicle heading West towards San Clemento. Armed and dangerous. Ap-

proach with care. All units in the area respond.‘

Don sighed as his Angel, his partner, said softly, ‗Armed and dangerous! Haa? Is there any other when

somebody‘s waving guns around?‘ She turned and wriggled as she reached into the seat pocket for a candy

bar. ‗Hmm. We're blockin' the Clemento road so they cain't get past here. They goin' the wrong way,‘ she

said. ‗They's no way off'n this route 'ceptin' through Magic Canyon and that road's rough. If we‘re lucky, we

can cut them off before the turn. If not then this old heap‘s goin‘ to take a beating following them. Well what

you waitin‘ for Don. Move this heap!' She picked up the handset and reported in.

The Magic Canyon turn off came into view at the same time as the Chrysler pick-up, the difference of

50 yards meant that the pick-up made the turn ahead of us.

'Oh, ooh, trouble! What's the forecast for today Don? We goin' back forwards or sideways?'

'Nice clear sky when we came up Angel. So there's a chance that it'll be a straight chase, stop 'n' cuff

job 'thout any problem. But they've got the balloon up at the mine so there's something going on. Still it'll be a

good marker for us if we get lost.'

'Lost as in don't know where we are, or lost as in don't know when we are, or lost as in a different

world, Don?'

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Page 6

'Well...I guess...any of 'em. Your choice! It looks to be good for a straight run in and out. My guess is

that the pick-up'll ground at Dead Man Creek and that we'll be okay.'

The turn behind us we rocketed through the tree's on a good gravel road kicking up our own dust cloud

following the one left by the pick-up. Rounding a right hand bend we saw the rear of it disappearing into a left

hand bend that wasn't there for us. The tree's grew across the road they'd taken had been. Fighting a slide Don

brought the car to a halt.

'Lost 'em. The Sheriff's goin' be mad 'bout this. You know he doesn't believe in the world shifts we have

up here.'

'Yeah; he don't believe in payin' us neither. We'll just have to take him up here sometime an' show him.

I guess a little face to face with somethin' out of time'll get his attention! But right now we got to get out of

here. Get this scrap heap turned around Don. I'll be happier when we got some black-top under the wheels.'

There was sufficient room to do a Y turn and the car was driven, rather more slowly, down the grade

than it had come up. The radio gave one of the usual pop-whistles it did in the high country and a strange voice

said, 'Official car 34 remain where you are. You are heading into danger. Repeat official car 34 remain where

you are, you are heading into danger.'

Angel said, 'Don, that's us. What do we do?' She reached for the handset as the car drew to a halt, and

said, 'This is car 34, who are you and what's the danger?'

The pop-whistle returned and the voice said, 'Car 34 you are heading towards a retrograde time fault of

some 300 years. As far as we can tell this will involve a crustal shift of between 20 and 200 feet. A time-quake

of that magnitude will move things and there may be severe ground shocks. Fortunately it's not liable to last for

long. We estimate between 30 seconds and 3 days.'

'Car 34, thanks out,' she replied. 'Who was that? Did you get the accent? Not local or even American.

Too flowery and formal, sounded sorta English to me! But they ain't any Brits around here; not even up at the

mine an' they got all sorts up there. Best stay put Don.' The pop-whistle came again.

'Calling Car 34. You should reverse your course for about 50 or 60 yards to be safe. We'll keep an eye

on events for you from up here.'

There was a hissing sound from the speaker and a faint voice could be heard saying, 'Gerry, are you sure

that 50 metres will be enough? You know how these local guys think they're immortal. Especially these moun-

tain man types.' The pop-whistle ended.

'Mountain man? Who does he think he is, Mountain man indeed!' burst from Angel.

'Don't yell at me. I didn't say it. Okay so you ain't a mountain man. I know that; your Mom and Pop

know that; Wilbur knows that, otherwise he wouldn't be marrying you come Saturday; everybody who's seen

you knows that. Why you screamin' at me?'

'Didn't you hear what he said?' she wailed. 'Three hundred YEARS! I'll be late for my wedding by

THREE HUNDRED YEARS! Everybody we know will have been dead for over TWO HUNDRED YEARS!'

She stared out of the wind shield with a blank look on her face.

'Angel! Listen to me, Angel. No way did he say that. Think about what he actually said. He said that

there'd be a three hundred year back-shift in time somewhere ahead, AND, this is important Angel so stop with

the angst, that it would last between twenty seconds and three days. So we sit here for a while and then drive

home. We'll be hungry and a mite dirty and you may have to hurry to get to the beauticians but you'll be there

Saturday at four. Anyways, if'n we could make it to the church right now you wouldn't be 300 years late, you'd

be 300 years EARLY. Assumin' that the town was there o' course.'

'Anyway,' she replied, with not quite her usual cheer-leader bounce but good enough to get by on. 'We

won't be hungry or dirty. I got me a wash-up kit in the trunk an' we can shoot and cook somethin' t'eat if we

have to.' Just then to radio came to life again. Not the pop-whistle we'd been expecting but the sheriffs office

asking where we where and had we seen the pick-up.

Angel answered by saying, 'Yes Harry. We followed them into Magic Canyon but lost them at Dead

Man Creek. He made it, we couldn't. The water level's too high.' As it was near change-over time we were told

to report in.

* * * * * * *

Angel and Wilbur were on their honeymoon when Harry drove Don into Magic Canyon to see if they could

find what happened to the 'Eatery Robbers' as the local paper called them.

'Dunno Don don't like this at all. Them two ol' boys just went down the here road and never come out

again. There's only the two ways out. Down here, which we got blocked off by that big truck, and down the

mine haul road which we got permanent blocked with whole heaps of mine tailings. If they got through with

that old pick-up we can get through with this Hummer. We got enough stuff here to fetch a whole heap of folks

out.'

Although Angel had, strictly speaking, given a false report; Dead Man Creek was running well up the

banks at the ford as the Hummer powered through. At the mine road cut off we turned left and went towards the

old mine looking for traces of the truck.

'You know Don,' said Harry. 'This is a mite peculiar. Here we are lookin‘ for a truck we know we

maybe won't find. Heck we may not even see tire tracks! If we do find somethin' I guess that it'll be too late for

us to do anythin' more than bag the bodies. What's left of 'em anyways.'

'You're maybe right Harry. But we got to try; we've had live ones out of hereabouts. The miners came

up and down the road OK. Never heard of any trucks getting' lost.'

'Shows you's a travel-wise, Don. They was a few in the early days, then they put a railroad in. None lost

on that or so I heard. Figure it was the metal that kep' 'em safe.'

'Railroad? Is the track bed still there Harry?'

'Maybe. Maybe the whole track's still there! When they shut the mine they just walked away an' left

everythin'. The only thing they did was heap up all the dynamite and blasting powder on the last bridge and

have there-selves a bang-up send off. This road don't go right to the mine no more, although you can walk cross

country to it if you want to. That balloon that the professors put up at what we calls 'The Mine' ain't at the

mine. It's on the bluff over by where the mine used to be.'

The Hummer rounded a bend and halted, fender to fender, with a heavy truck coming the other way.

'Now how did that thing get up here?' Harry said.

'Didn't get up here at all Harry. That's not a new truck at all and catch the license plate details. It's 40 or

50 years old if it's a day.'

'Don! You takin' it calm, just sittin' there a starin' at a ghost and sayin' catch the plate?'

'That's no ghost Harry. That's as real a truck as you can find. Back up to that turn around down the hill

while I talk to the guys in there.'

Exiting the Hummer Don went across to the truck and said. 'Howdy gents! You all seen a fancy white

flat bed around here? Maybe banged up at the side of the road! The feller who was drivin' it didn' want to talk

to the law none. I guess he was so all fire het up about it he could plum forget that roads bend aways.' There

was a snigger of laughter from the cab.

'Howdy deputy,' came from the driver, 'nothin's come up the road past me for maybe an hour or two.

Not since we set off the charge at bridge Seven. They's a small fancy white truck on its roof an' off'n the road at

marker 12 turn around though. I been coming down, real slow, from the mine an' makin' sure that everythin's

clear afore we closes the road for good. How did you get up hereabouts? The road ends blocked by a whole

passel o' trucks an' such.'

'Came up the old trail through Dead Man Creek. That strange lookin' car there is a good mudder.

Thanks for the tip I'll take a look at the wreck and go back the way we came. You close up like you planned.

Y'all take care now!' Tipping his hat Don returned to the Hummer as the old truck went past.

At marker 12 they found the remains of the pick-up and the remains of the men. They looked much

older than the few days that had elapsed and the tree growing out of the cab told its own story.

'What you reckon Don? Do we take them back or not? They been well eaten by th' critters...

'If we can bag 'em we take 'em, Harry. Never know what can happen if somethin' out of time is left here.

Can't do nothin' 'bout the critters what ate 'em but that shouldn't do any harm, an' most the truck'll rust away in

a few years. The plastics'll be around longer but other than set fire to it there ain't anythin' we can do about that.

Not just the two of us!'

Don and Harry got out two body bags and removed what remains they could find. On the way back the

Dead Man Creek turn off had disappeared. They had to follow the old mining road until it ran out onto the San

Clemento Road with the Hummer taking the earth barriers in its stride.

---------------------------------------

Sheriff Roy. H. Plummer was not in a good mood!

Sheriff Roy. H. Plummer was over 6 foot tall, over 300 lb in weight; mainly around the midriff, was losing his

hair and was in the middle of a messy divorce.

Sheriff Roy. H. Plummer was rarely in a good mood, and never after the delivery of a body bag that held the

remains of a suspect.

'I don't believe you Don, nor you Harry! These are supposed to be the remains of the 'Eatery Robbers'

who went up the Dead Man's Creek road three days ago. The coroner says that these bones have been out in

the weather for maybe 12 months. What are you trying to pull? Well what-ever it is, it don't work with me. I

know that Carl used to cut you some slack but he's retired and I'm the man in charge now! Sure I heard of this

―Magic Canyon‖ place were things are supposed to be different but I don't believe it. Both of you are going

back up to this place. Me and Stu are going to tag along to see where you found this stuff. Then we'll get the

investigators up there.'

It was no use pointing out to him that the investigation team, both members, refused to set foot off the

road when it went up into the hills. No problem with a nice messy shooting or something on the flat, but there

was no way that they were going into Magic Canyon.

Carl, the previous sheriff knew this and had gone along with it. He'd tried to get a team that would go

there, but after six teams had quit after the 1st time they'd gone in, usually they just got back and, without a

word other than something like 'I quit'; had thrown their stuff in the back of a car and driven off.

It looked as if Sheriff Roy. H. Plummer, for all his political posturing, would have to learn the hard

way!

Issue 225

Page 6

In the car the conversation turned to practical matters. 'Which way we goin' in Don,' said Harry? 'That

heap the sheriff's riding in won't go up the creek trail and may not make the haulage road either.'

'You're right Harry. The choice is grounding it on the haul road or knocking the sump out on the creek

road. I guess grounding it would sit better. Then we could get Avril to haul it out with her tow truck without

running up a big bill. If'n the sump gets ripped off I guess it would seriously peeve the sheriff as his fancy car

would be off the road for three weeks or a month. We‘ll head up the haulage road and see how he keeps up. Go

slow though! We don't want him to say that we rushed it.'

Apart from a few tyre tracks the turn off looked unused and the spoil heaps had gone. 'Don't like this

Don, don't like it at all. The last time we came up here there was trees' growing all over this turn off.'

The voice over the radio was the sheriffs. 'Where's all the mounds you keep telling me about? This is

nearly as good a road as the one to my farm.'

'Dunno sheriff but they certainly ain‘t here!' said Harry into the microphone. Then he caught sight of the

rear-view mirror. 'Just take a look behind you sheriff. You may like the view.' Behind us the mounds had ap-

peared, complete with their tree and bush covering. The sheriff‘s car slid to a halt and he got out to inspect

them.

There came, mixed with a static crackle, a pop-whistle on the radio through which the 'English' voice

said, 'Car 34, calling car 34. You are advised that there will be a large fault for some one thousand yards from

your present position. We can't even make a guess as to how deep it will be or how long it will last. This one is

outside our calculation range. We would suggest that you move at your best speed away from the area.'

'Who the hell is this,' came the voice of Sheriff Plummer. 'This is an official frequency so get the hell

off of it!'

Unperturbed the voice replied, 'We are trying to warn you of danger. You may ignore this warning

should you wish, however tha…' the voice was overlaid by the screech of another transmitter on the same fre-

quency as the sheriff mashed his send button down.

'Don, move it!' said Harry as the Humvee rolled forwards picking up speed as fast as the engine would

allow it. The sheriffs' car disappeared into the cloud of dust it threw up. After a mile Don stopped and they got

out to listen. Apart from the natural noises there was nothing. The pop-whistle appeared again, 'Car 34 you are

clear of the fault area, you're colleagues in car 10 weren't as lucky. They got caught in it. As far as we can tell

they are, at present, somewhere in the last millennium moving up-time. The likely-hood is that they will reach

your time-space sometime in the next few hours and then go forwards for a few hundred years until they reach

equilibrium and then return down-time. They may do this six to ten times before stabilising somewhere about

your time frame. A kind of yo-yo effect I suppose. This could take several hours or possibly days.' The voice

ceased although the pop-whistle continued.

'This is car 34. Thanks for your advice... What sort of condition are they likely to be in when they reap-

pear. Any idea?'

'Sorry car 34 we can't tell. You have more experience than us. We've talked about it, and would surmise

that they will be in a poor condition. At the least dehydrated and extremely hungry, more probably dead.'

Random words AP Malmaison was the unanimous choice. ‘The roses of Josephine are superb,’ said Thierry, showing the book. Napoleon loved her so much, look what he wrote, ‚you who alone can move my heart… who know the absolute empire you exercise over it!‛

‘But he divorced her,’ I said. ‘Ah yes, Egypt was untimely. He was away many years. Josephine became a lit-

tle playful. When Napoleon heard, his dream was shattered.’ ‘What about him?’ I asked. ‘All that going up and down in the stirrup – pushes a man further than he

can cope with alone.’ He handed me the book. ‚You have gathered around you the rarest plants grow-

ing on French soil, said the foreword. ‚As we inspect them in the beautiful gar-dens of Malmaison, [they are] an impressive reminder of the conquests of your il-lustrious husband...‛

‘Was the illustrious husband impressed?’ I asked. ‘He was furious,’ said Thierry. ‘She’d spent all his booty from the war be-

fore he’d even got it home.’

Cryptic - turbulence in the kitchen makes very little disturbance. Answer - microwave

The memories once transcribed are recorded as MP3 tracks and can be found on

www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=75

So far only RBW contributors and Colwich memories have been uploaded but around

50 free MP3 tracks from all the ten groups taking part will be available eventually.

Stella ‘Peg’ Pearmain

Monday Club, Hall Close

Before the War when I was about twelve and living in Birmingham I had a

five-bob (25p) bike with a bell but no brakes.

I remember one day riding all the way to Evesham. Mum and Dad

were on a tandem and my sister Josie was on my dad’s bike. It started hail-

ing so we sheltered under the entry to a house. When my mum decided

she wanted the toilet I went to ask at what I thought was a cottage but it

was the side door of a mansion and the servants had to take us through

the posh house. A man who was in the conservatory with his flowers said,

‘Give the children a drink of milk and the lady and gentleman will have a

tea.’ I couldn’t tell you how my dad told me off when we got outside: these

were not our sort of people!

Mum’s need for the toilet also featured when we were evacuated to

Upton-on-Severn. I was too old really but Mum wouldn’t let my sister go

without me. As we got on the bus Josie said to Mum and Dad, ‘If you get

blown up you’ll write and tell us, won’t you?’

One day my mum came to visit us and, with the lady we were staying

with, we climbed a hill near where the Americans who were stationed at

Castlemorton did their training. While Josie and I went to the pub a mile up

the road to get a packet of crisps, Mum and ‘auntie’ sat on some milk

churns. Once again Mum wanted to go to the toilet. There were a lot of

bushes around so she went. When she got back to the milk churns a jeep

came along, a whistle blew and the bushes got up and walked away.

Margaret Vernon

Monday Club, Hall Close

Growing up in Stafford we used to go to the pictures at the Sandonia cinema in San-

don Road. We called it the fleapit because when you came out you started to itch.

On a Friday night there’d be four or five of us and if it was an A-certificate film we

couldn’t go in unless we were with an adult. We used to stand outside and ask

someone to take us in. We had to sit by them but later we’d sneak off somewhere

else. I saw The Mummy there and quite a few cowboy films.

We also went to the Odeon on a Saturday morning from nine to twelve o’clock

for the children’s Saturday Club. It cost nine pence (about 4½p). We had the Pathé

News first followed by a cartoon and then the main picture, which might star Old

Mother Riley, Roy Rogers, or Lassie. The cinema was usually full but not rowdy; we

were good in those days.

On Saturday afternoons we’d sometime go to the Albert Hall in Crabbery Street

where the Co-op is now. It was a very small theatre and an old man worked there.

We used to pay nine pence but we’d sneak into the shilling (5p) seats. The old man

always used to catch us, though, and make us go back to the nine-penny seats —

and he’d swear at us.

Lorna Turner

Monday Club, Hall Close

When I was young living in Newcastle-upon-Tyne with my mum, dad and sister, I

spent a lot of time with my granddad on his allotment.

We’d all walk over to see Grandma and then the children would be sent to help

Granddad. He was a miner and he spent every free hour he could in the fresh air on

the allotment at weekends. The allotment was about a quarter of a mile away but

there were no issues going there on our own because everybody knew everybody.

Later we’d go back for tea but Granddad never knew when it was time to come

home so we would often be sent back to fetch him. He was never on time; by the

time he’d washed all the soil off his hands the meal was practically over.

It was a fairly large allotment with beautiful soil because over the years he’d

looked after it. He could fill his whole weekend working there. Even when the

weather was awful he would still go. He never grew a giant leek or anything like

that; he wasn’t into competitions. He just grew things he enjoyed growing.

He had a greenhouse with a little stove in it and in the colder months we’d go

and sit round the stove. In the summer he used to grow Gardener’s Delight toma-

toes and he’d stuff our pockets full of them.

Granddad would talk as he was doing things but this was his relaxation so he

didn’t feel the need to say much. If you watched him, though, you learned a lot.

He was an interesting man: he was into local politics and a keen Liberal who’d

shared a platform once with Lloyd George. He also inspected the local schools. It

was about being part of the community. I think people felt after the War it was im-

portant to rebuild their small community and everyone pulled together.

When Granddad died we took on the allotment and among the jobs my sister

and I had was to pick the raspberries. One lovely day we picked lots and Mum had

taken along some evaporated milk — you didn’t have cream in those days — and

sugar. We put the sugar on very liberally — as we did before we bothered about

health issues — but mistakenly Mum had brought salt instead of sugar and we had

to throw the lot away.

A few years ago my sister got an allotment on the same site, about two plots

away from where Granddad’s was. There’s still the same spirit there with people

helping each other and sharing things. I’ve never had anywhere to grow vegetables

myself but I love to garden; I have a greenhouse and I grow Gardeners’ Delight to-

matoes.

Brenda Petrie

Monday Club, Hall Close

I was born and brought up in Stafford and, in the early 1940s when I was about

eleven, my mother bought me a second-hand sit-up-and-beg bicycle from the mar-

ket.

She wheeled it to the Holmcroft estate where we lived and my dad painted it

black. The next week she bought another one for my older sister, Edith, and my dad

painted that. When Edith went nursing she didn’t use her bike and mum said I

could give it to my friend Ethel. So the pair of us used to cycle along the Eccleshall

Road through Whitgreave Lane and back down the Stone Road twice every Sunday

morning. We never went any further; apart from the PT we did at school that was

our bit of exercise for the week.

In the school holidays a group of us would walk through a field of cows to get to

the river at Shaky Bridges, a little beauty spot on the Eccleshall Road. It was a lovely

walk and we’d take a picnic with us. The river was quite clean in those days — with

one special spot where it wasn’t too deep when you stood up — and we’d have our

swimming costumes on ready to jump in.

When I went to the river I had a little black costume which stretched when you

were in the water, but by the time I was at senior school you couldn’t buy swimming

costumes with the War on so my mother knitted me little shorts and a bra.

Mum’s younger sister worked in the cotton mill in Lancashire, like Mum had

done before she was married, and whenever my auntie came to stay with us she

would bring big spools of white cotton that had been spun at the mill. My mother

crocheted antimacassars for the chairs, curtains and table runners — and she knit-

ted me the swimming costume.

At the swimming baths with the school they’d taught us to jump in the shallow

end first to get our confidence. I jumped in and my bra came off and then — as I

came up in the water — my shorts came off.

The costume was beautifully knitted and looked nice when it was dry but once

it got wet it was too heavy. I never went in it again.

Issue 225

Page 14

Random words (EH)

Old Fred was well liked by his neighbours, they were

unanimous in his praise, he was ever ready to lend a hand

or have a playful game with the children or the dogs, in

fact he called the local streets his own Empire of friend-

ship. So his untimely death grieved them all.

It happened as he was making his famous toffee ap-

ples.

'We found the syrupy mix still simmering and his

cook book open at the toffee recipe he hadn't even put

down the stirring spoon,' said his neighbour Josephine, 'he

must have been day dreaming.'

Here is the next instalment of cryptic clues for British birds. (JT) 1. Welsh wizard ? (6 letters) 2. Late, muddled duck (4) 3. Found in regrettable circumstances (5) 4. Moaning Muscovite? (3,6) 5. First bird from the Ark (5) Answers: 1. Merlin, 2. teal, 3. egret, 4. red grouse, 5. raven

WHAT IS RADIO WILDFIRE? Radio Wildfire is an independent online radio station which blends spoken word, poetry, performance literature, comedy, storytelling, short stories and more with a novel selection of word/music fusion and an eclectic mix of musical styles. www.radiowildfire.com currently broadcasts live 8.00-10.00pm (UK time) on the first Monday of every month. There’s a brand new 2 hour mix of material in The Loop on Radio Wildfire – Now playing 24/7 a completely new selection of stories, satires, poetry, spoken word, music and interview @ www.radiowildfire.com - another two hours of live literature and chat. In this edition ... The first ever Looping of our brand new series The Lost Poets. Every month poet Mal Dewhirst will delve

into the life and work of a forgotten or underappreciated poet. First episode: Michael Drayton. Plus an interview with Mal to put the whole series into perspective. The Loop brings you a radio play with Talkers and Doers by Keith Large, which features BAFTA winning actor

David 'Dai' Bradley (Billy Caper in Kes) in the lead role. The Loop brings you an intriguing Memoir piece with Jill Tromans' account of her family connection to Buf-falo Bill's Wollaston Visit. Poetry and spoken word with music and soundscape from Victoria Field, Alison Boston, Angela France and Paul Lester. Poetry from Julie Boden, Heather Wastie, Dave Reeves, the late Geoff Stevens. There's Song from Sally Crabtree and Michael W. Thomas ...and The Loop brings you Ambient Music with Jimi Dewhirst. PLUS: Irons In The Fire: Jan Watts' Laureate's Diary - the monthly diary from Birmingham's

Poet Laureate AND there's Gary Longden's Listings, in this month's show Gary looks back at the year and lists some of his favourite events, venues and poets - check it out you might just be featured! So join us and listen by going to www.radiowildfire.com and clicking on The Loop. The Loop is edited by Vaughn Reeves and will play online continuously for the next month, except during our live broadcast on Mon-day 6th March starting at 8.00pm UK time with a full programme of pre-recorded tracks, live studio guests and

conversation.

Issue 225

Page 15

Can contributors to Ad Lib please arrange to collect their free copy by emailing

Steph for postal instructions, or coming to a Monday Library Workshop.

Copies are available for friends of the charity for a suggested

minimum donation of £5.00 each (plus £1.20 P&P)

Can all contributors please note there will be a celebratory lunch party/launch

and poetry event in late July/early August (venue tba).

It is hoped contributors to Ad Lib will be able to attend and enjoy the readings.

Many thanks and well done to everyone, we hope you‘ll agree this is a great collection

Rising Brook Writers does not endorse any third party competitions.

Issue 225

Page 16

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National & International Submissions Deadline - March 30th 2012

Unpublished, Self Published (£10,000 prize) and a Published Writer category. National & Interna-

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Unpublished, Self Published (£10,000 prize) and a Published Writer category.

Could you be the Brit Writers’ Awards Writer of the Year 2012?

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THE POETRY SLOT

Issue 225

Page 17

Yosa Buson or Yosa no Buson (1716 – December, 1783)

Buson was a Japanese poet and painter from the Edo period.

Buson was born in the village of Kema in Settsu Province (now Kema-chō,

Osaka). His original family name was Taniguchi.

At the age of 20, Buson moved to Edo (Tokyo) and learned poetry under the

tutelage of the haikai master Hayano Hajin. After Hajin died, Buson moved

to Shimōsa Province (Ibaraki Prefecture).

Following in the footsteps of his idol, Matsuo Bashō, Buson travelled through the

wilds of northern Honshū that had been the inspiration for Bashō's travel diary, Oku

no Hosomichi (The Narrow Road to the Interior). He published his notes from the trip

in 1744, under the name Buson.

After travelling through various parts of Japan, including Tango (Kyoto) and Sanuki

(Shikoku), Buson settled down in Kyoto at the age of 42. Around this time that he

began to write under the name of Yosa, (his mother's birthplace was Yosa, Tango

province).

Buson married at the age of 45 and had one daughter, Kuno. Buson remained in

Kyoto, writing and teaching poetry at the Sumiya. In 1770, he assumed the haigō

(haikai pen name) of Yahantei (Midnight Studio), which had previously been the pen

name of his teacher Hayano Hajin. Buson was also a distinguished Bunjinga (literati-

style) painter, he perfected haiga ("haiky sketch") as a branch of Japanese pictorial

art.

Buson died at the age of 68 and was buried at Konpuku-ji in Kyoto.

Sumizumi ni nokoru samusa ya ume no hana

In nooks and corners

Cold remains:

Flowers of the plum

Lighting the lantern

The yellow chrysanthemums

Lose their colour.

Source material and image Wikipedia

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© Rising Brook Writers 2012 — RCN 1117227 A voluntary charitable trust. Issue 225