Felixstowe Scribblers
Meeting Report for 15th April 2014.
In attendance: Les,
Suzy G, Dick, Beryl, Derek, Liliane, Cathy Richard, Aidan, Barry, Linda, Tom,
Jane, Tony, Caz and Dave
Apologies
were received from Katy and Carolyn.
Full House?
How
lovely to see a near full house this evening, our best attendance for a long
time. There were things we had to discuss at the start of the evening which
delayed the opening reading by approximately twenty minutes. This compacted on
the meeting and meant that after the short break we had to skimp a little on
the short allotted feedback time. In the end we finished the meeting a few
minutes after ten pm so we didn’t do badly.
Now
comes a thought... how can we manage the readings when we have large
attendances? Should we limit the word count or would some of us opt for
listening and not reading? Your thoughts will be invaluable for the smooth and
efficient (!!!) running of our group.
Celebrations.
We
have to thank Derek from bringing along cakes he had baked just for the
Scribblers and to celebrate his birthday on Thursday of this week. Jane also
celebrates her birthday on the same day. The third celebration is Susie (H)’s
house warming party the same evening. Her invite was relayed to the group.
The Anthology.
Caz
has worked hard in the background to ensure we can cover the costs of
publishing – which is great news. We should also have some left over for some
display boards that can go on exhibit in various places in the future.
We
are arranging a meeting with the printers to finalise details of the anthology
but we expect your short stories or poems will be required in the very near
future – please! Invites are going to recently attending members or those who
have moved away from Felixstowe.
Please
remember, short stories or poetry please, preferably around the 1,000 word mark
or just above and please can you email it to me at scribblers@btinternet.com as soon
as possible.
The Bill Budner Trophy.
A
new trophy has been ordered from our good friend Scott and should be here in
the next few days. We still have to confirm with Bill’s widow Maureen if she
can attend the next competition meeting. If so we will present her with the
original trophy which will be a nice gesture and pleasant reminder of Bill.
More stories please.
Can
you help Tony with a story or two for the radio slots on Felixstowe and ICR
radio stations? The Scribblers work is
broadcast on ICR Tuesdays at 15.30 on 105.7FM and Felixstowe Radio Wednesdays
at 21.00 on 107.5FM.
Now the homework!
It is always appreciated
when copies of your homework assignments can be loaned to enable a legible
précis of content to be included in the notes so thank you all.
Derek: The Flower of
Flanders: A driver took a wrong turning in the narrow streets and
a young Serb did his deadly deed. Within 37 days of that assassination in 1914,
the world had slid into war. Men, mere boys had their lives snatched away in
the killing fields, Flanders in particular. Afterwards, the Royal British
Legion was formed using the vivid red Flanders flower as its symbol. Dave sat
in the cafe after the service drinking coffee. The angry man opposite asked why
Dave was wearing a poppy and he explained. The man said his family had been
decimated by war, grandad in Belgium. His dad at Dunkirk. His son in Stanley.
He cursed the bloody wars, remembered his dead every day, not just one day a
year and didn’t need a bloody poppy.
Caz: The Life and Times of
Woody Guthrie: The infamous Woody Guthrie was born on 14
July 1912 in Oklahoma and named after democratic candidate Woodrow Wilson.
Woody’s sister died in a fire and later her father was injured in another fire
started by his mother who was later institutionalised. Woody befriended a blues
harmonica player and soon showed musical flair on both this and the fiddle. He
spent his time busking before moving into dance halls and extending his talents
to song writing and singing. Woody’s gift influenced singers like Pete Seeger
and Tom Paxton whilst he mentored Ramblin’ Jack Elliott and Bob Dylan. Woody
passed away in 1967.
Cathy: A Bargee’s Lament: As
we sailed up the Orwell and docked at Ipswich I saw you standing on the
quayside, winked at you and how you blushed! The cargo had to be unloaded; it took three
days before I could go ashore. I glimpsed you as you entered the home of
Nathaniel Lord the wealthy merchant. You smiled mischievously at me and my
heart was lost to you. We sailed to London and returned, the docks empty of
barges. A docker said two merchants houses had been burned to the ground; all
in Lord’s household killed. I was in despair. You were lost to me forever.
Tom: Memories of Tenements: I
remember, I remember the days were long, the sun was strong, the times were
hard. The friends were close, strife lost in youth’s cry at timeless Monoliths.
Summers seemed endless on our imaginary steeds of prowess. The Oasis of the
back courts was no man’s land. The games of skill hurling plastic quoits with
brand names Brylcream and Oxo. I remember flying on chariots down vehicle free
highways, machines sporting logo’s from foreign lands, Outspan, Fyffes, Geest.
Great grey tombstones saw all and smiled on the Gorbals youth. Times were hard;
the Tenements watched and still do.
Tony: Bath A Loner: The
sun rose waking Barth on his street corner of old Carthaginian City. Traders
filled the plaza, their prices too high for him. He had but one coin, not
enough for food so he’d grab his breakfast as traders assembled their stalls.
Today was not his day they were alert. He sought work without success. He would
target the traders’ customers, his first a young woman with a basket of fish,
fruit and bread. He grabbed a loaf but she clasped his wrist and called
“Guards!” In a prison room she confronted him, gave him food. She asked him to
assist in catching thieves in exchange for regular food. If he agreed he’d be
truly alone.
Dave: Regression: My
past life regression took me back to my childhood, then further back than that.
The date: 25 October 1415: My name Richard de Court. I was amid King Henry V’s
army facing the French at Agincourt. Though outnumbered 6-1, our longbows won
the day though the battle was long and bloody. I was wounded in the arm and
head. Back to the present, research could not trace Richard de Court so was this
just a hypnotic dream?
Beryl: An Unlearned Woman: I
should like you to hear my last confession Father. I am 81, and one of the
weaker sex. I was born in 1098 to a family of the lower nobility. At three I
began to see divine luminous objects and later was sent to a convent in the
care of Jutta who also had visions. She died in 1136 and I was made ‘magistra’
by the nuns. I was stricken with paralysis but after recovery established two
convents. On God’s instruction I wrote visionary and natural history books and
even the pleasure derived from sexual relations from a woman’s viewpoint. I
also wrote the words and music for ‘Play of Virtues.’ My name? Hildegard of
Bingen.
Richard: The Wall is Gone: The
morning of 10th November 1989. The Berliner Zeitung headline: The
Wall has gone. The Berlin wall had been there so long, seen the atrocities of
escaping East Germans shot in their bid for freedom in the West. Present at a
huge event in history, pure excitement and good will to everyone. At the
Brandenburg Gate no standing room was left on the wall. Chipping away the
concrete had already begun. Cheering, noise, euphoria. Sleep was impossible. A
man with a big Mercedes handed parcels to each of the Trabants and Skodas. To
me he gave a loaf of German ‘Grey Bread’.
The fall of the wall, the triumph of optimism.
Jane: Long Shadows: She
found the photo when she was fifteen but would never have opened the box if she
hadn’t felt so angry. Her father said they were moving again. She hadn’t minded
before, but not now. Not when Eddie Taylor had kissed her. Mother said father
had another job but he didn’t want to move either. Upstairs Alice saw it, the
box on mother’s dressing table, the one she’d been told contained evil. After her
mother was found hanging, Alice started cutting herself. In that box had been a
locket and photo of a young man in an SS uniform. Alice’s mother had been
German, the daughter of an SS Officer Tomas Weimar, not the Tommy Webber she’d
been told died fighting as a British soldier in the war.
Linda: The Closure of Davies’s
Canteen 1959: Davies’s canteen was located in Alexandra
Dock, Bootle, Liverpool. Christina Lake was born in 1881 married Robert (Bob)
Davies at 17. Bob worked all his life on the railway but heard about an
available retail site and together with his wife they obtained a bank loan and
opened a canteen for dock workers and sailors. Christina’s hard work and loyal
staff built it into a thriving business. When she retired her son Frank took on
the canteen with his wife Beryl. They overcame the lack of heating during the
harsh weather but the smell of cooking had customers flocking in. Rumours that
the dock was to be closed proved correct and the canteen closed on 31st
June 1959.
Aidan: Untitled: This was, perhaps, the best work of the
evening. Written so well and read with such powerful meaning about the haunting
subject of dementia. It opens with Derrick’s letter to Eileen asking her not to
read on until she takes three deep breaths. “Remember. Remember me. I’ll be in
the past soon but if you remember me I can still be alive for you. Just let the
memories look after you.” Mrs Simpson stood on the doorstep, the letter in her
hand, she took deep breaths. A tennis ball thudded in the court across the
street. Tennis she thought. Something about tennis. Some memory. No. Gone
again. Her eyes slipped down to Derrick’s letter.
Suzy G: History of Food (poem): Consider the apple –
it was there when eating began. It was an innocent bite, But if Eve had known
it was the beginning, would she? If she had known about pain would she have
spawned it with one crunchy bite? Consider the seed, the egg, the leaf, the taste
in the mouth for something we’ve lost. The apple, it was there when this eating
began. Innocent too.
Barry: The Kingdom: You
ask if you are worthy to enter the kingdom. Your karma must be balanced. At
three you escaped from you playpen and woke in hospital. At seven on Christmas
Eve you sneaked downstairs and opened your presents. At seventeen you saved a
man from a runaway lorry, picked up his wallet, ‘borrowed’ some of the contents
before returning his wallet. He died five years later, left you his house and
you gave to charity more than you borrowed. You stood by your wife for 50
years. Your twins are waiting for you to die for your estate. Your karma is
balanced so you can enter the kingdom.
Dick: The Question of
Honour: Robert Sedgewick, branch manager of Holland’s Bank
turned down my request for a loan despite my good financial history and credit
worthiness. Rumours spread that my mill was in financial plight which was
untrue. I complained to Head Office who disciplined an aggrieved Sedgewick, the
man later assaulting me in the street. My friend Wallace suggested a duel but I
wasn’t a fighter though he persuaded me to reluctantly agree. He helped me with
duelling and fed Sedgewick a pack of lies about my prowess with a blade. This
instigated a grovelling letter of apology from the man who pleaded forgiveness.
With a sigh of relief, I forgave him.
Liliane: The Battle of the
Golden Spurs: Liliane provided a history of Flanders and
the Battle of the Golden Spurs at Groeningen in 1302. When the English and
French were at war the Count of Flanders sided with the English. In 1302 the
two warring nations had signed a peace treaty so when France invaded Flanders
the English failed to help. The French captured the Count. Two factions arose,
before the Flemish and the French battled the day, the Flemish taking no
prisoners. The golden spurs of the French knights were taken as trophies.
You
really should have been there to enjoy the quality of the work – everyone a
winner!
Our next meeting is in
THREE
WEEKS time on Tuesday 6th May when your homework assignments
is for no more than 1,000 words on “PARENT or PARENTS”. True life stories,
creative work, fact or fiction. The choice is yours...
Hope
to see you there next time, so
Keep
Scribbling!
Spring Kist and Tearoom
