RBW Online

ISSUE 261 Date: 2nd November 2012

Issue 261

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"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science. He to whom this

emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed." Albert Einstein. Punjarbi Proverbs "Annay kuttay hirnan day shikari." English Translation: Blind dogs hunting deer. Meaning: When incompetent person does a tough job. "Aahlkiayan de pind vekhray naeen hondey." English Translation: Villages of lazy people are not separated. Meaning: Lazy/incompetent people live in same society. "Jam di rann tay billi day kenn." English Translation: Wife of Jam and ears like cat. Meaning: To be a rich man's wife and without jewellery.

Political economy came into being as a natural result of the expansion of trade, and with its appearance elementary, unscientific huckstering was replaced by a developed system of licensed fraud, an entire science of en-richment. Friedrich Engels 1843 The slave frees himself when, of all the relations of private property, he abol-ishes only the relation of slavery and thereby becomes a proletarian; the pro-letarian can free himself only by abolishing private property in general. Friedrich Engels 1847

Take a road less travelled in Staffordshire.

Off the tracks roaming on Cannock Chase near Brocton. Red deer and fallow deer live here but no sight of them on this day.

LIFE OBSERVATIONS When the clocks go back or forward it’s a good time for me to remember to check the bat-teries in the smoke alarms. Never leave a battery in a smoke alarm if you are renewing it ... Never shove it in the back of a drawer and forget it’s there, because when that battery runs out and starts bleeping every few minutes it will drive you crazy until you can find it. (A per-sonal experience!) You can be on your own in a crowd of 43,000 people at a football match. You can meet an old acquaintance twice in the same day when you haven’t seen them for years. It’s very cold round your ears when you’ve shaved off all your hair. Search engines can be very scary if researching medical conditions. I watched a white glass-sided hearse being pulled by two white horses with plumes going along Baswich Lane towards the cemetery. It added a surreal quality to a bleak afternoon.

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Riffle (verb) Flick through the pages of a book with casual glances; shuffle cards;

become choppy as in sea over rocks

Pinion (verb) To restrain or immobilize a person; to prevent a bird from flight by

binding feathers

Gore (verb) To pierce the flesh with horns or tusks

Gore (noun) Thick coagulating blood, especially if shed due to violence; triangle sec-

tion of cloth part of a skirt

Transmigrated (verb) To move from a place to another country or place; to pass

into another body at time of death (according to some religion)

Flincing (Verb) The process of cutting up e.g. dead whales into pieces for rendering

Contusions (noun) Bruise and injury to body where skin tissue sustains damage

Scudded (verb) To move swiftly e.g. Clouds across sky; sail before a gale with

strong wind blowing from behind; swift movement; can mean sudden shower or gust

Tousled (verb) To tangle hair or fur, to ruffle; dishevelled hair

Mottled (verb) To be marked with different colours in an irregular pattern or spots or

patches

Hatchments (noun) A diamond shaped panel with the coat of arms of someone who

has died

Indefatigable (adj) Untiring — never showing tiredness or relaxing in effort; unflag-

ging

CLIVE’s three FREE e-books

NOW PUBLISHED on RBW and issuu

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PageID=52

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Steph’s two FREE poetry e-chapbooks now published on

www.issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

and on RBW main site

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/DynamicPage.aspx?

PageID=52

Next portrait exhibition Oddfellows Hall 31st Nov—1st Dec

Random words: Valentine, Rosemary, rubbish, rabbit, red,

Scottie, flimflam, category, verdict, mandarin, bananas, fruit-

less, random, staples 160 words

Assignment: Fireworks 400 words

2012: RBW FREE e-books NOW

PUBLISHED on RBW and issuu.com

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/

DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=52

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E-Publicity Release: National Short Story Week approaches and we wanted to let you know what's happening around the UK to celebrate. Our recommended reading lists for adults and children are now available from the website. The adults' list has been chosen by prominent authors, actors and broadcasters, and our children's list has lots to chose from in-cluding titles about inner city life around the world, post-WWII childhood and Dr Who! See the lists at: http://www.nationalshortstoryweek.org.uk/recommended-reading-list.htm We're starting to get in news about events that are taking place during the week. You can see what's going on and submit your own event here: http://www.nationalshortstoryweek.org.uk/events.htm Keep an eye on our homepage over the next couple of weeks for more news about special writing podcasts with broadcaster Sue Cook and a new romantic fiction short story competition.

National Short Story Week 12th to 18th November 2012

Jumble Sale (SMS)

20p: turned down corners, favourite book, cover tatty, worth a look,

Vase, Wedgwood Jasper, a fiver for a chipped disaster,

‗Next‘ blouse exquisite silk an‘ lace, 50p for a smiley face.

Tray of tommies, Money Makers, 60p. Lots of takers.

Fairy cakes, cherry-topped; trailing petunias wilted, flopped!

Pile of comics, 10p every one: Desperate Dan and Little Plum.

Silver spoon with rubbed hallmark, donated by ‗er from across the park.

Tired old bear only one ear, stitching gone and smells of beer.

‗‘ello! A pile of French knickers an‘ frilly nighty, crikey that‘s a bit flighty

for the Vicarage! What a turn up! What a giggle!

Size 22 – such a notion – that‘s one oversized wiggle

for pink lace draws. Never mind, we‘ve all got flaws.‘

Urn‘s a brewing, strong and tanned, mug of tea in frozen hand,

‗Look here, our Lionel! Sergeant Pepper‘s Lonely Hearts‘ Club Band in vinyl.

Gerroff I was ‗ere afor you! Slide over those, Dearie. Yes the pink an‘ the blue!‘

Autumn : Dog owners warned of seasonal illness by

animal charity Owners who walk their dogs in woodland and forests during

the autumn are being urged to watch out for symptoms of the potentially fatal „seasonal canine illness‟.

Signs or symptoms that could indicate seasonal canine ill-ness (SCI) usually appear within 24 to 72 hours of dogs hav-ing walked in woodland in autumn and any vomiting, diar-

rhoea or lethargy should be checked by a vet asap. The Animal Health Trust (AHT) is monitoring five sites

where the mystery illness has been reported and several sus-pected cases of SCI have been reported since August 2012. The woodlands are: Clumber Park, Nottinghamshire,

Rendlesham Forest, Suffolk, Sandringham Estate, Norfolk, Sherwood Forest, Nottinghamshire and Thetford Forest, Nor-

folk. However, the Trust stresses that while their investigation

concentrates on these five sites, dogs could be at risk of SCI walking in any woodland at this time of year and owners are advised to seek veterinary advice immediately if they suspect

their dog has SCI. Meanwhile the AHT is asking owners to help monitor and minimise the impact of SCI by gathering

more information about the illness and by spreading the word about SCI to other dog owners through social media, dog walking forums or even a quick chat with other dog owners you meet

whilst out walking. http://www.aht.org.uk/index.php?

app=cms&ns=xmodnewsrss_detail&ref=Suspected_cases_of_SCI_reoccur&sid=2h2m47692f3o423r1a3q513k6dq72z44

PS The dog featured above enjoying Cannock Chase last week is quite fit and well.

Random words PMW It had been three months since Martin had met the

lovely Juanita from Bolivia on an internet dating site, but it was long enough for him to know that she was the girl for him. She had flown over to be with him, and he was keen to make a good impression. He had butterflies in his stomach as he took the new aftershave from its pack and gave his neck a liberal squirt. “Nexus”, he read, “makes men irresistible!” He cer-tainly hoped so. His friends were having a bonfire party, so he exchanged Juanita‟s dainty sandals for some pink wellingtons. He felt a headache coming on, and a pesky bluebottle appeared from nowhere and wouldn‟t leave him alone. As they set off, Jasper, next door‟s Rottweiler,

was unchained in the garden, and leapt the fence, trig-gering all the other local dogs to do likewise. They pur-sued the pair of lovers down the street, “Irresistible to wildlife, not women,” Martin thought despondently.

© Maktatiana | Stock Free Images & Dreamstime Stock Photos

The adventures of Market Inspector Plodd Part 2 (CMH) “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,” oh deared Market Inspector Plodd to his sidekick Rob de Rab,

who was really Roberta de Hare; but we don‟t talk about things like that. “You were right; I should never have got that dog.”

“Well boss.” Rob replied, “We'd got that nice Rottweiler all lined up for you, but you in-sisted on getting that Chihuahua, called Floss. Funny dogs them!”

“It's not that, Rob. It's the holes in the lawn. I mean, only last night I let her out for a last

sniff round and when I look this morning what do I find? Floss had been and half buried her latest toy; and I'm not even sure it's recyclable. I mean is it the recycle bin or the waste bin

for a 40 tonne HGV? “ “That‟s beyond me, boss”, Rob replied, “I‟m only your Official Assistant Special Investiga-

tive Side-kick, or OASIS for short. You need to talk to your brother about that.”

“Which brother, Rob? There‟s Police Inspector Plodd, Health Inspector Plodd, Building In-spector Plodd and Councillor Plodd to choose from.”

“You missed some there, boss. There‟s Plodd the Gasman and Plodd the Electrician, as well as the one you get mistaken for, the who owns that hairdressers and calls himself The

Beautiful Plodd. Anyway that‟s not getting our investigation going.” “What‟s on the books for this morning then, Rob?” Plodd had just had a repaint and was in

a positive mood.

“Well, there‟s the Mysterious Affair of Stiles or you could have a go at the Invisible Sheep Rustling or there‟s the Baffling Story of the Amusement Park. Then we had one come in just

this morning that the papers are calling The Toy Town Terror Trail.” “We‟ll do the lot in order, Rob.”

Has Plodd bitten off more than he can chew? Will he be able to see those sheep over the stile?

And will it be amusing to park there? Tune in next week for the next inciting instalment of

PLODD and the Terrified (I am).

Autumn Acrostic... PMW

A ugust’s warmth and light is departed.

U nder leaden skies the earth slows down.

T rees are undressed by wild winds.

U pon bare branches new buds begin to swell.

M ists lie over water meadows.

N ot long now till winter.

YE SLIGHTY OBLONG TABLE OF TRENTBY

YE CAST OF CHARACTERS NB: Historical accuracy is NOT encouraged

Nobles and similar Harffa -Ye Kyng. Not ye sharpest knyfe in ye drawer. don Key o’tee -Spanish ambassador to Court of Kyng Harffa .. Wants big toe back Baron Bluddschott (Stoneybroke) Gwenever Goodenough – Wyfe of ye Baron Della BluddschotT - Ugly Daughter of Baron Bluddschott. GalLaHADNT - A Prince but Charmless Daniel Smithers Constable of Bluddschott Castle and maybe the COrowner of the County Old Maids Vera, Gloria and Bertha husband hunting sisters of Baron Bluddschott Evil Sherriff and Baron Morbidd up to no good

ye KnyghtS [they’re better during the day] Lancealittle, Dwayne Cottavere, Perciver Mailish (Narrator) PAGE to UNCLE BARon Bluddschott (probably Son by Wife’S SiSter)

Religiouse Lionel, Bishop of Trentby keeper of the Mappa Tuessdi Abbot Costello of Nottalot, a Nasturtium Abbey Where an-other map now abides— desperate for pilgrim pennies Vladimir A RELIC/MAP TRADER from far off somewhere Wyllfa the Druid Sorcerer

Others Big Jock A Welsh poacher and SHORT wide-boy. robbin’ hoodie Another poacher and wide-boy. Peeping Barry member of hoodie’S gang of miScreantS CLARENCE the cook

None living The Ghostly Sword of Bluddschott Castle The Mappa Tuessdi ... Velum map of the known world bought in A bazaar in Constantinople SAYS VLADIMIR The toe bone of St. Gastric & ST Hilarious gall stone Crocodile and Lake

They call me Mailish, I‘m the page to the good Baron, my uncle or more possibly

dad knowing my old lady who isn‘t too fussy, and where needed I will fill in any

background information to illuminate the path for the dear reader through the

gallant tale here unfolding.

Wyllfa, the Druid, Sorcerer to the Bluddschott‘s since Baron Bluddschott‘s

grandpa was on the make ... sorry ... engaged in Knightly pursuits and nightly

ones as well if all the rumours are true ... scratched his chin with a quill. This was

not easy as his chin was buried beneath a long fluffy white beard and as usual

he had forgotten he‘d just dipped his pen in the sooty pot and thus another

splodge graced his soup catcher.

‗There must be a way, old friend,‘ pleaded Baron Bluddschott. ‗They eat like

men at arms afore the night of battle. The three of them will bankrupt the estate

afore the summer‘s out at this rate.‘

‗A charm, you say. A love potion!‘ Wyllfa had been dreading this moment ever

since the arrival of the three crones at the castle. The arrival of the three spinster

sisters of the Baron had been dreaded by one and all. He had seen it coming ...

literally ... after all he was a necromancer and could see into the future even if

what he‘d had for breakfast often now escaped him. Especially faggots he could

never get them to stay on these new fangled forks.

‗It‘s the only way. No fellow in their right senses would take on any of these

three blood suckers without a dowry.‘

‗Dowry,‘ echoed Wyllfa. So that was why the

Baron was here bothering an old man in his

lofty garret in the tallest tower of the castle. The

only place a man could get a bit of peace and

quiet away from the hustle and bustle of the so-

lar. ‗Dowry, you say!‘

Baron Bluddschott sank on to a three-legged

stool, Wyllfa only had time to wave a strengthen-

ing spell onto the flimsy timbers before the full

weight of the Bluddschott dynasty landed full

square on its benevolence.

‗Why do I bother? Yes, a dowry. And it‘s Della

I‘m most worried about. She‘s ...‘

‗Your daughter, not the most comely amongst

the maidens? Sire,‘ added Wyllfa tactfully.

‗You‘ve seen the wench, her‘s a throw back!‘

Wyllfa nodded.

There was an unfortunate blemish in the ge-

netic soup of the Bluddschott blood line which

now and again threw up the Bluddschott snout.

‗So it‘s four dowries and a ...‘

‗Miracle,‘ added Baron Bluddschott gazing

out across Bluddschott estate where in the far

distance the banners of the courtly progression

of Kyng Harffa could be seen descending upon

Trentby river crossing. He‘ll be here by nightfall

the Baron thought grimly and something twisted

in his gut.

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Banquet preparation

The door to Bluddschott Castle's kitchen opened slightly and a head appeared

around it. ―Psst! Clarence!‖ the head said in a decidedly Welsh accent.

―Not yet; but I'm working on it.‖ Clarence, the General Factotum and head cook

and bottle washer who; thanks to the Baroness's latest round of cost cutting, was

also the only cook, bottle washer, butler, baker and candler in the castle, waved the

bottle of Malmsey (second grade) in his hand. ―Oh, it's you, Big Jock. Come in and

stick it all in the larder there.‖

The door opened further and three men sidled through it. Clarence thought, 'It's

got to be difficult to sidle when you've got half a deer over your shoulder. They must

have practised for hours to get that good at it.' Then went back to wondering if his

promotion to General Factotum was all that it was cracked it up to be by Lady G, as

the staff called the Baroness.

After a few trips through the door Big Jock, who said he was using a nom de

plume, or in his case a nom de poacher, came across.

―Right boyo, there we are then, look you,‖ Big Jock said through a magnificent

beard, one you could have used as a barbed wire fence or kept hens in, as he

looked at Clarence from an altitude approaching on five feet.

―Four deer, fourteen salmon, two dozen rabbits and six brace of oven ready

ducks. We'll be bringing the dozen dozens of eggs in

later, after we've had chance to steal … ermm ... I

mean, collect them.‖

―A dozen dozens, Jock! Don't you mean a gross?‖

―Dead right, boyo. It's got to be gross eating that

many eggs. Now where's the money? You know the

way it is; no cash, no food.‖

―It's like this, Jock.‖ Clarence knew that the local

wide-boys always worked on, Strictly Cash on Deliv-

ery (and I've never seen you before in my life, gover-

nor) terms. ―Lady G's not given me any money for you. She said to put in an account

and she'll pay at the end of the month.‖

Big Jock, sadly, shook his head a few time; his beard neatly cleaning the corner of

the table and bringing it up to a high polish. ―We've heard that one before, boyo,

haven't we lads? You just nip along to the Baroness and tell her that me, and Rob-

bin' Hoodie, and Peeping Barry here don't work for nothin', look you. But, seeing as

how the King's here for a few days, we'll let her have this delivery on account. That

means on account of we're not going to lug it all back. The next lot is cash up front,

and I reckon it'll be tomorrow for the next order. Prynhawn da bach!”

As they went Clarence asked, ―What does that mean then? That Preenhowun dar

bark.‖

To be told by Barry, ―Usually, good morning, but in this case it means; no cash –

no food – no funny business, the next time we're here.‖ The door crashed shut be-

hind him.

Clarence went to tell the Baroness that she had zero credit with their 'Local Sup-

pliers' and that the catering over the next few days would be ‗interesting‘.

‗Just think, your Lordship, all the way from Constantinople,‘ sighed Vladimir the mer-

chant in ancient antiquities, waving an inky quill near a scroll of vellum in a sprinkle

of spottiness waiting the required signature for the release of funds from the coffers

of the Bishop‘s cloistered vault.

‗But this world map has obviously come from a replica copied from the lost

library at Alexandra, named after Alexander the Great's rule of ancient Egypt,‘ re-

plied Bishop Lionel gently removing the quill from the waving arm of the scribe and

affixing his flamboyant signature to the scroll. ‗It looks well here. High enough up

on the wall so the gaze is risen and out of the hands of grubby fingers.‘

‗I wish you could cover it in glass like that,‘ muttered the merchant casting an en-

vious gaze over the chained casket housing the toe bone of the saint safe behind

tiny panels of green stained glass in its wall niche, guarded day and night by statues

of angels and a fat bloke with a battle scared face and a broadsword resting on his

knee.

‗Look here, Master Vladimir, a nice twist, there once was the place before the

great flood of Noah showing Antarctica when it was a lush, tropical forest, and the

Poles in a different place to the frozen lands they are today.‘

Vladimir gasped at such momentous news. The original blueprint, the sacred plan

of the Almighty Mapmaker had been changed? How could this be? Was Boniface,

that old fool of a scribe he had locked away in a cell in Cheapside painting these

worthless copies, falling into his dotage?

‗Deserts moved. Mountains fell. And this legend on calf skin shows man crossing

the oceans in time out of mind, tens of thousands of years in the past. For indeed

whole islands have arisen overnight as a volcano thrusts up in seas from deep

ocean and in time brings life and trees to those shores,‘ Bishop Lionel gazed in won-

der at the Mappa Tuesdii in awe.

‗Volcanoes, Atlantis, Antarctica...‘ whispered Vladimir wondering what were such

wonders and even ... was such talk heresy? His eye rested on the bottom left hand

side which bore the legend ‗Here Be Dragons‘ and shivered. Maybe he should

scurry back to Cheapside as fast as the mule cart could travel and get the old fool

to adjust all the copies with his paints box before he sold any more? That‘s the trou-

ble with scribes ... they can‘t be trusted not to mess about with original concepts:

something as simple as painting by numbers, all that unfrocked Monk, Boniface,

had to do was stay sober enough to paint in the outlines and the colours ... but no ...

© © Taolmor | Stock Free Images & Dreamstime Stock Photos

Can you remember your first job?

Or ...

Were you ‗called-up‘ to do a stint of

National Service?

If so please send in your memories for

the 2013 memories project asap.

We hope to be able to collect enough

material to produce an e-book of memories.

As we no longer have the funding, or staffing, to go on a com-

munity tour collecting memories then we will have to think

laterally and produce the project in another way.

If you have old photographs that would be great ... scanned

in and sent as jpegs please.

My First Job

Did you work as a Saturday girl, or boy, while still at school?

Did you become an apprentice?

Did you start in the family business?

What princely sum were you paid for long hours?

National Service

Brasso, blanco and bull? Remember all that?

Nissan huts and square bashing, how did that appeal to a

Teddy Boy?

How much of a culture shock was this?

Did you go anywhere interesting?

What did you learn from the experience?

Were you the square peg in the round hole?

In retrospect did you gain anything from the time served?

This book won‘t write itself ... We need your memories!

My First Job PMW

My introduction to the world of work was not entirely a happy and positive one. And that was largely down to one person. I am the sort of person who does well in interviews. I don’t get overly nervous and come across as enthu-siastic and bubbly. Besides this, I also had the advantage of having studied at a college with a very good reputation for arts and crafts, so I didn’t have much trouble landing my first job at a middle school in Leicestershire, teaching art and pottery to 11s to 14s.

I was fresh out of college and keen to make a good impression. Taken on at the same time as me, was Bob, whom I’d met on interview day, and who had secured the post of woodwork teacher. Bob was newly married and was every bit as keen as me to show what he could do. But we hadn’t bar-gained for our Head of Department.

The main school was a fairly old building, but we were blessed with a virtually brand new, purpose-built arts block, with all the latest equipment. I say ‘blessed’ with tongue in cheek, because though many teachers less fortu-nate than us, who had to work in dingier, less attractive conditions may well have envied us our place of work, it did have its drawbacks; one of which was a flat roof, which leaked during heavy rain, and another being that it was entirely open-plan. This was a total nightmare as far as we teachers were concerned. It was hard to hear yourself when the planer or bandsaw was in operation in the adjoining area, and flour dust would be trampled everywhere from cookery.

But Leicestershire was a go-ahead county in those days, and were in the forefront of all new educational developments, including open-plan. In some of their High schools, pupils were allowed to call staff by their first names, and one of the newest schools had been built in the shape of a ziggu-rat, and was acknowledged to be of architectural interest. One good thing which the county espoused was the idea that schools should be used as cen-tres for the wider community, so that they would be used round-the–clock by all manner of groups, and adults could use the new facilities in the evenings to learn silversmithing; my area of expertise.

A new teacher needs help. Straight from college, with just two brief six-week sessions of teaching practice behind him or her, there is much to learn. I was a form teacher too, so was responsible for the pastoral care of thirty plus lively eleven year olds. Though I had an arts degree and hail from the Stoke on Trent, pottery wasn’t a subject I knew a lot about. In that re-gard, I was fortunate, because Bob and I had an excellent advisor, who would come to visit regularly, and give advice and even practical help about as-pects I was unsure of, such as firing the kilns.

But his helpfulness was undermined by the Department Head, who en-joyed making our lives a misery. We discovered that he had never married, and lived alone. Apparently he had a landlady, and the general consensus of opinion was that he didn’t much like females. All the staff in the department were experienced, excellent teachers, including him, but he was the main man; the one who we must impress; the one with whom we had the most to do, and he didn’t like me, and he didn’t like Bob.

Maybe he disliked me because sad accident of birth had made me female. Maybe he didn’t like Bob because he was young and full of new ideas. I don’t know. All I do know is that if he could make us feel small, he enjoyed doing it. He didn’t support us, offer advice or nurture us. He seemed pleased when we sometimes struggled with certain children, and there were some whose behaviour was challenging. He enjoyed ruling the roost. These days he would be described as a bully.

The art block was his empire and he lorded it over us. The other staff members were middle-aged and had been in the profession for many years, so he couldn’t act like that with them, so boy, did he have a good time at our expense. I seriously began to wonder if teaching was really for me, and was relieved when, after two years, I got another post here in Staffordshire and left the bad memories behind. Though he was undoubtedly a fine teacher, mainly because the children were scared of him, he was a lousy Head of Department and human being. I believe Bob got out about the same time as me, and just hope that his views of teaching weren’t tarnished per-manently by this unfortunate baptism of fire.

My First Job Margaret Osborne Distant Memories In 1953, after five years as a fine art painting student at the West of England College of Art, gaining two scholarships and the senior painting prize at the area art college for the west country I was ready to take on my first post as an art teacher — or so I thought. My teacher training practice had given me experience in a Grammar School and Art College in Gloucester but nothing had prepare me for the shock of comprehensive level which was my first appointment or the domineering attitude of the Headmistress who ruled the roost. She was a female look-alike of Robert Morley, a well known film actor at that time, with blonde, crumpled hair, probably dyed, and an unfaltering gaze. She was known by the staff at that time as ‘The Apparition’ as she would appear without warning at the classroom door to scold, or grab by the collar an unsuspecting child, sending shivers through the rest of the group of children, usually 48 in number. At the time the school was 21-years-old and was celebrating its anniver-sary with a performance of Hansel and Gretel by Humperdinck. I was asked the paint the scenery of life sized trees but was given no free time to accom-plish this task so I would have to set work for the ‘C’ stream group which was my class to prime the large canvas and paint the massive woodland scene with a pathway. You can imagine that this gave rise to the ‘C’ stream for a real opportu-nity for high-jinks and noise. Suddenly the door burst open and ‘The Appari-tion’ was in the doorway, but unfortunately so was the bucket of whitewash that by chance I had left there to prime the canvas sheet. The bucket tilted forwards towards the wall and bounced back again all

over her feet. She let out a yell then turned and pad-dled her way back to her den leaving white footmarks all the way across the quad-rangle. Another memory comes to mind when some busy-body near the school re-ported to the headmistress that I had been seen wear-ing jodhpurs on a Sunday morning. Not surprisingly as that was the time that I went horse riding as I en-joyed that very much. It was my free time after all.

She thought that on a Sunday it was more appropriate to be seen in a skirt to which I pointed out that it was not appropriate whilst sitting astride a horse. I think I won that point. I those days seamless stockings were becoming fashionable in the early 50s and so I wore a pair to school only to be called aside one morning to explain why I was not properly dressed in stockings but bare legged. So without hesitating I hoisted my skirt up as far as one dared in those days and twanged my suspender to prove my point. Next day I went bare-legged to school with tanned leg-dye and a seam and heel-clock care-fully drawn on my legs and heels with an eye-brow pencil but no more comments were ever uttered by the Head. It was like I imagined a remand home would be, not being allowed as a grown adult to wear a necklace, a fancy watch, a pretty ring, except for an engagement ring or wedding ring, these were reluctantly allowed. We were teachers, qualified adults being bullied by a spinster nut-case. I left as soon as I could as in the first year you were being assessed in a temporary situation therefore it was recommended that two years was the ideal time to move on.

This is my mother's recipe for a good healthy breakfast. It is essentially a fresh, do-it-yourself muesli, but she was making it long before any-one in England had heard of muesli! (PS) What you need One large cooking apple, preferably Bramley; grated One handful of sultanas or raisins Two handfuls of cashew nuts; grated fine One desert spoon of runny honey A good splash of orange juice or lime juice What you do Grate the apple into a bowl, then add the grated cashew nuts and other ingredients. Stir well. It can be prepared the night before, in which case cover the bowl with cling-film and leave in the fridge. It will keep for 2 days. This is enough for four servings. Because it has a strong flavour, serve each helping with an equal quantity of oats, plus milk, and cream or yoghurt to taste.

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Announcing The Launch Of... The Home-Start Bridgwater Short Story Prize 2013

1st Prize - £500 2nd Prize - £200 3rd Prize - £100

Entry Fee £7 per Story (All proceeds going to the Charity's work)

CLOSING DATE 21st JANUARY 2013

Judge: Dame Margaret Drabble

You can make your entries either on line or by post by downloading & printing the postal entry

form www.homestart-bridgwater.org.uk

Please Note: RBW does not endorse any third party

workshop, competition or event.

Advance Notice Stafford Art Group

Autumn Exhibition ODDFELLOWS HALL

Nov 30th - 1st Dec

2012

Something for everyone to

enjoy. Free entry

Coffee and cakes

available

Picture: Some liked it hot ... (oil on canvas) 50th anniversary tribute

A message from a website contact form: Subject: information about a writing prize Message: We are three professional authors and an extreme sportsman and we have formed the charity: Words for the Wounded. The aim is to raise funds for the reha-bilitation of wounded service personnel via writing prizes. The first competition opens for entries on November 11th. Poetry, fiction, real life stories of no more than 400 words is asked for. Please go to www.wordsforthewounded.co.uk for more information.

Submissions are open now for RBW

current e-book projects

Please send in your poems

For The

Bitter Sweet Poetry Collection 2013

Please send in your memories

Of

My First Job

Or

National Service (Peacetime)

Please join in with our new farce.

Please send in your

Family Favourite Recipes

This bulletin doesn’t write itself ...

we do need your submissions.

Many Thanks!

Tamburlaine the Great is a play in two

parts by Christopher (Kit) Marlowe.

Written in 1587 or 1588, the play is a milestone in

Elizabethan drama.

Marlowe turns away from the style of earlier Tudor

dramatists, and opens an interest in vivid language,

memorable action, and intellectual complexity.

Tamburlaine Part One may be considered his first

acclaimed success of the London theatre.

Christopher Marlowe (baptised 26 February 1564 – 30 May 1593) was amongst

other things a playwright, poet and translator of the Elizabethan era.

Marlowe was born in Canterbury to shoemaker John Marlowe and his wife Cath-

erine - Marlowe attended The King's School in Canterbury (where a house is now

named after him) and Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, and received a Bachelor

of Arts degree in 1584. Marlowe was the foremost Elizabethan tragedy writer of his

generation. It is accepted his works greatly influenced William Shakespeare, who

was born in the same year and who rose to be the pre-eminent Elizabethan play-

wright after Marlowe's mysterious early death. Marlowe's plays are known for the

use of blank verse, and their larger than life protagonists.

A warrant was issued for Marlowe's arrest on 18 May 1593. No reason was given, it

is thought to be connected to allegations of blasphemy — a certain manuscript pos-

sibly by him was said to contain "vile heretical conceipts".

On 20 May he was brought before the Privy Council for questioning. No written re-

cord of that meeting survives, however, and he was commanded to attend each day

thereafter until "licensed to the contrary". Ten days later, he was stabbed by one

Ingram Frizer in a public hostelry in Deptford. Whether the stabbing was connected

to the blasphemy arrest is unclear.

Little is known about Marlowe. Evidence is scarce and can be found in legal records

and official documents: there is much speculating about his activities in those tur-

bulent times for the country. Marlowe has been described as a government spy, a

brawler, a heretic and a homosexual, as well as a "magician", "duellist", "tobacco-

user", "counterfeiter" and "rakehell".

The Tamburlaine plays are considered by some scholars to be inferior to later

penned tragedies of the late-Elizabethan period, however, the significance in creat-

ing a multi-layering of themes and, in demonstrating the use of blank verse, should

be acknowledged.

TO THE GENTLEMEN-READERS AND OTHERS THAT TAKE

PLEASURE IN READING HISTORIES.

Gentlemen and courteous readers whosoever: I have here published

in print, for your sakes, the two tragical discourses of the

Scythian shepherd Tamburlaine, that became so great a conqueror

and so mighty a monarch. My hope is, that they will be now no

less acceptable unto you to read after your serious affairs and

studies than they have been lately delightful for many of you to

see when the same were shewed in London upon stages. I have

purposely omitted and left out some fond and frivolous

gestures, digressing, and, in my poor opinion, far unmeet for the matter,

which I thought might seem more tedious unto the wise than any

way else to be regarded, though haply they have been of some

vain-conceited fondlings greatly gaped at, what time they were

shewed upon the stage in their graced deformities: nevertheless

now to be mixtured in print with such matter of worth, it would

prove a great disgrace to so honourable and stately a history.

Great folly were it in me to commend unto your wisdoms either the

eloquence of the author that writ them or the worthiness of the

matter itself. I therefore leave unto your learned censures

both the one and the other, and myself the poor printer of them

unto your most courteous and favourable protection; which if you

vouchsafe to accept, you shall evermore bind me to employ what

travail and service I can to the advancing and pleasuring of your

excellent degree.

Yours, most humble at commandment,

R[ichard] J[ones], printer.

THE FIRST PART OF TAMBURLAINE THE GREAT.

THE PROLOGUE.

From jigging veins of rhyming mother-wits,

And such conceits as clownage keeps in pay,

We'll lead you to the stately tent of war,

Where you shall hear the Scythian Tamburlaine

Threatening the world with high astounding terms,

And scourging kingdoms with his conquering sword.

View but his picture in this tragic glass,

And then applaud his fortunes as you please.

http://www.gutenberg.org/files/1094/1094-h/1094-h.htm

ACT I. SCENE I.

Enter MYCETES, COSROE, MEANDER,

THERIDAMAS, ORTYGIUS, CENEUS, MENAPHON.

MYCETES. Brother Cosroe, I find myself agriev'd;

Yet insufficient to express the same,

For it requires a great and thundering speech:

Good brother, tell the cause unto my lords;

I know you have a better wit than I.

COSROE. Unhappy Persia,—that in former age

Hast been the seat of mighty conquerors,

That, in their prowess and their policies,

Have triumph'd over Afric, and the bounds

Of Europe where the sun dares scarce appear

For freezing meteors and congealed cold,—

Now to be rul'd and govern'd by a man

At whose birth-day Cynthia with Saturn join'd,

And Jove, the Sun, and Mercury denied

To shed their influence in his fickle brain!

Now Turks and Tartars shake their swords at thee,

Meaning to mangle all thy provinces.

MYCETES. Brother, I see your meaning well enough,

And through your planets I perceive you think

I am not wise enough to be a king:

But I refer me to my noblemen,

That know my wit, and can be witnesses.

I might command you to be slain for this,—

Meander, might I not?

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