FELIXSTOWE SCRIBBLERS MEETING REPORT FROM THE ROOM AT THE TOP,
FELIXSTOWE LIBRARY.
Apologies were received from Martin, Beryl,
Barry M, Mai, Suzy and Susan.
Those present were Dave, Barry D, Les, Dick,
Liliane, Carolyn, Tony, Clive and myself.
We were very pleased to welcome a new member
this evening Clive Wilson. We hope he enjoyed the first of many evenings with
us.
It
is with a heavy heart that we say farewell to Barry, at least for the time
being, as he is taking a back seat for personal reasons. We hope very much that
we’ll see Barry return to the fold in the near future. We would like to
take this opportunity to thank him for his continued support and hard work for
the Scribblers, we all appreciate it very much indeed. Thank you Barry, from us
all.
 |
| Barry on the right, overseeing his Scribblers. |
Tonight was a critique evening with Carolyn
and Les the ‘volunteers’ for feedback.
CAROLYN – started the evening by
reading part of her Memoir ‘Paris by Hearts’ of a journey to Paris alone, after
losing her husband Gary. A thirty hour flight from Sidney, with the discomfort
of her knees bumping the seat in front, obviously not designed for tall people.
She spoke of her loss, and of the man who has since come into her life.
Arriving in Paris she decided that walking to her apartment would keep her
awake. Despite the smell of sweat and burnt rubber invading her nostrils
she loved Paris with its sloping gardens and the Eiffel Tower. Shimmering cool
and gentle. Thinking too of her son, of twenty with their close mother/son
bond.
As the evening closed in wanting nothing more
than to get to the apartment after walking past a children’s play area that
brought memories of a childhood gift from her Father for a ‘good job buddy’ in
the school play. Arriving at the apartment and seeing the elderly neighbour
with grey hair over her eyes. Rising anticipation walking through the foyer
and. exhaling with pleasure to see the Queen sized bed. The cleaning
could wait till morning. Longing for a soak in hot water and trying
without success to ignite the water heater. Raising aching arms to try
and ignite the pilot light but nothing. Several attempts later but still
nothing. Blinking back tears pacing the floor and deciding to step out in
search of food.
Long shadows accompanied her to the
supermarket, purchasing pate, tomatoes, red wine, espresso coffee, baguette and
croissants, for the morning. Rinsed out the wine glass and tried the water
heater one more time and it burst into a thunderous roar and the pilot light at
last was alight. I raise a toast to ‘you sweetie’. Putting a thick layer
of sweet butter on baguette and washing it down with more wine - sated.
Second glass of wine giving a soft glow to the floor and ceilings. Now
thoughts of the last trip to Paris and the years she envisioned the apartment her
heart aching with all the memories. Deeply happy to be there, love and
loss intermingled. The city means so much to her. Simple but complex
memories of a lifetime of love. Finally a hot bath before bed, giving
thanks to God for all she does have.
LES – YET ANOTHER
LIFE First a little
verse. Some true facts of life after five years of being treated like
children. First days on a budget. Joan a dress maker and me a stone
cleaner £8.16 per month to pay the mortgage and other bills A struggle? Not
really, it was wonderful – paradise. Joan had lived with parents who were
always at war. A controlling mother who ruined our courtship, or tried
to. A Victorian slum, outside toilet. But then we were Iiving, in our own
home, no luxuries needed just each other.
Her Mother started her orders when she came
to visit. “Don’t let him drink.” but Joan’s instincts were good without any
help. Both Joan’s parents had a bath when they visited us once a week.
Although a cloud had been put over our courting days we were two young people
making our lives together with joy and love. Our house was very old, very
damp, hidden behind the panels. A great list of jobs that needed doing.
Working and earning, Joan dress making – me working anywhere in London. Parish
Churches, Norman Churches 1,000 years old. Three pairs of working clothes
one to wear, one to wash and one airing.
Our mortgage hung over us but we were
enjoying a fabulous married life but decided our transport we would buy a
motorbike AJS 250cc so paid a deposit. Didn’t have it long and it was either
hit a car or swerve round it. Came to grief and hit the deck. My Dad was
on pillion and he claimed off the driver. Dad got £1,200. So Dad could pay me
for my bike but he never did. Two years later a cheap car, £90. An
upturned bucket on wheels. No self starter, no compression, had to take foot
off accelerator so that windscreen wipers worked. We had two years of fun
and sold it to a man and spent that money on a deposit for a new car.
We had a dog too called ‘Smudger’ Smith a
right character he was. Ran into a brook one day with no water in it. He
would sit beside the cooker and one day he looked guilty and he was, had eaten
all the chocolate decks off the Christmas tree. I got some timber, cheap
of course, to build a kitchen cupboard and within a few seconds he had
demolished what took me eight hours to build. I tried some plumbing too but Joan
never let me forget my DIY cock-ups.
I wanted to build an urban space for plants
and a garage when we could afford it. A huge task in the bottom of the garden,
so much earth to shift. Ordered sections for pre-fab garage to be delivered in
a fortnight. How hard could it be to bolt sides and asbestos roof on?. I
didn’t help by drilling holes where none were needed. A light hearted
celebration even though the car only went in there three or four times at the
most.
We all then had the opportunity to critique
Carolyn and Les’s pieces and give positive feedback on a thoroughly interesting
evening, enjoyed by all.
It’s a three week gap to our next meeting
which will be held on Tuesday 6th August
in The Room at the Top in the Library. The homework assignment of a maximum
1,000 word limit is on the theme of ‘Pebbles’.
Hope to see you all there in the meantime
please Keep Scribbling.
Caz Wilkinson
(Joint Secretary)
