Issue 359 24th Oct 2014

Rising Brook/Holmcroft/

Baswich/Gnosall

Libraries are under threat.

LOCAL MEDIA REPORTS:

THEY SAY:

Proposals to move Stafford town cen-

tre’s library from the historic Shire

Hall to the controversial Staffordshire

Place will come under the discussion at

a council meeting this month.

Councillor Mike Lawrence, member responsible for libraries at Staffordshire County Council, is

calling on the cabinet on Wednesday, October 15, to back the move. If approved Stafford’s main

library would relocate from the three storey Shire Hall in Market Street to the ground floor of

Staffordshire Place 1 in Tipping Street by May 2015. But any decision to move premises would

not affect other decisions about Stafford Library as part of the county-wide library service con-

sultation that ended recently, Councillor Lawrence has stressed.

He said: ―This is an ideal opportunity to move with the times by leaving a building not designed

to house a library and transferring to a modern, light, attractive space close to the new Riverside

retail complex that we can all be proud of.

―The current building was never intended for this purpose and it’s very inefficient and costly.

―The new building would be far more versatile. It would include a changing place, meeting

rooms, larger toilets and better disabled access and will have the flexibility to deal with changing

demand in future.‖

There were 312,000 visits to Stafford library during 2013/14, a 10 per cent fall over three years,

while the number of books borrowed has fallen by a third over the same period, the council has

claimed. They also claim the move would save on the running costs of £130,000 a year. They

claim on paper the amount could be reduced to £75,000. Four full

-time assistant librarians could lose their jobs.

PROTESTORS SAY:

THE new space is

open plan and so

small reader/poetry/

writers groups (often

very noisy) couldn’t

easily be accommo-

dated.

WHY weren’t the

public consulted?

Four full-time library

assistants may lose

their jobs!

Libraries aren’t only

about books being

borrowed.

They closed their

DVD section last year

which was a big

draw ... They don’t

mention free computer

use by Jobseekers ...

Or IT courses for

silver surfers ...

They seem obsessed

with toilets ...

2

Random words : prescription, shadow, forethought, sea, some-

thing, devastate, brilliant, open-ended

Assignment : Flammable

The BBC weatherman said that ‘showers will organise them-selves into longer spells of heavy rain at times during the day.’ Wow! I never knew clouds were so clever. Perhaps they should form a trade union! Weeding can be therapeutic; mud up your nails, back ache, draughty whistling round the nethers and a tub full of twitch and tap-rooted border trauma wilting into decay; wonder-ful ... A news report on Radio 4 this week included the following extraordinary comment: - “A killer pleaded guilty to possess-ing firearms in court”. Why wasn’t he searched before he went into court? Or is it just another case of bad grammar?

Photo credit C Massey

Reverse Graffiti — dirt removed to make image

STORYTELLING at the ROSE AND CROWN Market Street, Stafford, ST16 2JZ

Tuesday 28th October. Christine McMahon will be bringing her show

Babycham and Chips; intrigued by the title? It's an intriguing show! Read more here:

https://www.facebook.com/events/722713857821663/

7.00pm start £5.00 entrance fee Stafford Storytelling Club

www.issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

NEW: 2015 poetry collection

“Defying Gravity” Submissions now open

New NHS Trust to run mid and north Staffordshire hospital services PRESS RELEASE 14 Oct 2014 "Creation of a new trust signifies a time of major, positive change in health services for the people of Staffordshire" The NHS in Staffordshire is to receive an additional investment of well over 250 million pounds when hospital services in Stafford and Stoke-on-Trent are brought together into a single new NHS Trust. When additional investments are included for services moving to The Royal Wolverhampton NHS Trust the figure rises to well over 300 million pounds. This is considerably more than the Trust Special Administrators estimated would be required to transform health services in Stafford-shire and represents a strong commitment to ensuring the stability and future resilience of health services in this part of the country. On 2 November 2014 the new NHS Trust will come into being. It will be called University Hospitals of North Midlands NHS Trust. It will be a single Trust with two hospitals of equal importance - one in Stafford and one in Stoke-on-Trent. It will incorporate the activities of the current University Hospital of North Staffordshire NHS Trust (UHNS) and most of the activities of the Mid Staffordshire NHS Foundation Trust (MSFT). Some of the services provided by MSFT will transfer to the Royal Wolver-hampton NHS Trust. The Trust will include services and teams at Stafford and City General (in Stoke) hospitals, with the hospitals renaming to become the County Hospital (Stafford) and the Royal Stoke University Hospital (City General). The creation of the new Trust, the new investment and the hospital name changes are subject to the final approval of the UHNS board, the NHS Trust Development Authority (TDA) board and the Secretary of State for Health. The UHNS board is meeting to con-sider the final package of proposals this afternoon (Tuesday 14 October) and the TDA board is meeting tomorrow (Wednesday 15 October). Mark Hackett, chief executive of UHNS and chief executive designate of the new University Hospitals of North Midlands NHS Trust said: "This is a moment of major, positive change for the people of Staffordshire and their local NHS. We have succeeded in negotiat-ing a very substantial investment of over a quarter of a billion pounds into NHS services in Staffordshire. This will enable us to expand and develop our hospitals to the very real benefit of local people. Safety will be our number one priority with safer care in better fa-cilities, more follow up care in local settings and better access to specialist care. I now urge everybody to support these positive changes and to support our dedicated and committed NHS staff who will be working hard to make them a reality over the coming months." The investment of over 250 million pounds will help fund: At Stafford: The refurbishment of A and E to double the space and reduce overcrowding. Expanded outpatient facilities especially for emergency access clinics. Opening and refurbishing more wards and operating theatres. Double the number of single rooms with en-suite facilities. A new MRI scanner. A refurbished midwife-led maternity unit with a modern birthing pool. The development of new services such as eye surgery. A new frail elderly assessment service (Stafford). At Stoke: The re-commissioning of several wards to create an additional 64 beds. 12 additional beds in the new critical care unit. The creation of a new Orthopaedic Centre with 56 new beds. New operating theatres in a new state-of-the art unit. The opening of 12 new maternity beds and the expansion of the neonatal unit. The completion of new car parks with over 300 additional spaces. The opening of a new 28-bed children's ward. Mr Robert Courteney-Harris, the new Trust's Medical Director said: "The creation of the new Trust and the additional investment in NHS services will also help us to recruit and retain permanent staff as the reputation of the Trust grows and staff positively want to work here. We will be able to use our most senior staff more flexibly on both sites and we'll be able to invest properly in better diag-nostic facilities at Stafford - including, for the first time, a new MRI scanner. This will mean better care in A and E, better care for acute medical patients and more day case surgery at Stafford." In order to make maximum use of both the Stafford and Stoke-on-Trent sites some services will move from Stafford to Stoke and some new services will be developed on the Stafford site. Acute and major inpatient surgery will move from Stafford to Stoke-on-Trent in the spring of next year as will inpatient paediatric services. Medical services will transfer later in the year. New services at Stafford will include orthopaedics, dermatology, eye surgery and a new frail elderly assessment service. Nine out of ten patients who currently use Stafford Hospital will continue to be treated locally including women who need antenatal or postnatal care. Consultant-led maternity services for medium risk births will move from Stafford to Stoke early next year, on a temporary basis. High risk births are already dealt with at Stoke. Dr Anne-Marie Houlder, Chair of the Stafford and Surrounds Clinical Commissioning Group said: "Medium risk births require a range of support services such as anaesthetics and these services will no longer be available at Stafford once surgery moves to Stoke in 2015. When these support services move it would be unsafe to provide a birthing service for medium risk mothers at Staf-ford. However, this move will be a temporary measure - undertaken on safety grounds - and will be subject to a national review of maternity services to be conducted by NHS England. "Of course, babies will continue to be born at Stafford Hospital because low risk mothers can choose to attend the refurbished mid-wife-led birthing unit at Stafford. Mothers-to-be will also be offered the opportunity for home births and will continue to receive community midwifery support, ante-natal and post-natal outpatient care at Stafford as they do now."

Hospital Protest Campaigners SAY:

No 24/7 A&E at Stafford

No Consultant led Maternity at Stafford

Acute/Major Surgery/ Paediatric Services

moved to Stoke

A new name for a downgraded hospital

Random words : French, cheerio, automata, politic(k), biscuit, stance, jam, haber-

dashery, croissant, ham

Miss Mozart wasn‘t happy working on haberdashery at Graceless Brothers Department Store. She had aspirations! Standing there behind the counter all day long made her

feel like an automaton, and she longed to say cheerio to the bias binding, zips and French lace forever, in favour of a position in the store‘s cafeteria. The delicious smell of croissants, jam and scones, biscuits and freshly sliced ham wafted across the shop

floor and tantalized her nostrils. She had resolved to speak to Captain Pheasant about it, but was it politick? Mrs Fastcombe might object, and she didn‘t want to upset her!

Besides, his stance on staff changes was unyielding. He didn‘t approve. And she sup-posed any job, even in buttons and braid was better than none.

Assignment : Underfoot

As a small child, a trip to the shops to buy a new pair of shoes was always a treat.

There wasn‘t much money about, but mum always bought well; sensible, comfortable shoes that would last. I inspected the underneath, and if satisfied with what I saw, I tried them on, and pranced around the shop like I‘d won the lottery. Parents would

never have understood the necessity to have interesting soles, as well as attractive uppers. Only other kids would know why.

Winters in those days were harder and longer than today; no doubt climate change and global warming have meant that generally, we get far less snow nowa-

days. But I have clear memories of walking the mile-and-a-half or so to school every day, as an infant and later, a junior, and sometimes being so cold that chilblains erupted on my feet, and I cried with the pain. But one thing I always enjoyed

was going out into the fresh, pristine snow with my friends and my new shoes and crunching the white powder underfoot. Best of all though, was printing pat-

terns from the soles onto the new canvas, as yet untrodden. Each child wanted to leave his or her mark on the world. All the other kids stomped around, putting their own pattern on it, and games would be invented, in which we overlaid our

patterns, or walked in each other‘s‘ prints, or made crazy trails and huge circles of footprints in the snow. We imagined monsters or aliens having landed and

having created the snow designs, or other folk seeing our work and wondering who or what had done it. For us, an new pair of shoes opened up endless possi-

bilities for a winter‘s day.

The Tale of “The Headless Tram Driver” 'Well Miss, I wunt g' down th' ol' quarry sidings at this time o' a neet, Not fer o' tea in

China I wunt.' So saying the oldster drained his mug of tea and thumped it on the counter. 'Yer see; I sin them what 'as, an' I wunt want t' end up like it I can tell yerz.'

Taking the mug thump as a cue that it was, ―thirsty work this talking‖, the researcher hurriedly got it refilled; dark khaki with six, heaped, spoons of sugar before carrying on

with her quest. 'But why not Mr. Mike? I mean I've been down there and had a look around, just to get background material for the programme you understand. All there is a lot of old rails and sleepers.'

'Aye lass!' The ancient returned, after sampling and adding more sugar to the refill, 'That's what yer sees durin' t' dee o' reet. That an', if yer got yer eyes open, like wot you

ain't be th' looks on it, a lot o' ol' flat cars, rusty bogies, broke down tractors, a few rot-ten tipper wagons and the wreck of th' number seven tram, reet ont side o' th' bottom-

less pool.' 'Bottomless pool! You can't be serious, Mr. Mike?' The researchers‘ modern knowledge

was effortlessly trumping the gaffers‘ ancient superstition. 'There's no such thing as a

bottomless anything, it's against the laws of nature. Deep, I'll grant you that, but if it was bottomless it'd be a volcano or a short cut to Australia or something.'

'Aye lass, I dare say you'm reet.' The ancient‘s forefinger slid alongside his nose and he winked. 'But I knows wot I knows! Stuffs bin thrun in yon pit fer so lung as I can re-

member an' it an't been filled up, an th' water level an't changed neither. That's a'cauz it's bottomless, see?'

The researcher knew when science was beaten by superstition and conceded the

point. 'So why wouldn't you go down into the siding then, Mr. Mike? Dangerous I know, you could fall over something and bleed to death before you could get help. But we're

talking about a full camera crew and technicians, eight or twelve people, with lights gen-erators and all, it'd be as safe as houses. What the producer is looking for is a night scene of men working in the quarry under acetylene lamps.'

Mr. Mike, as he was known, took another mouthful of tea before answering, 'Haunted init? Got a reet set o' ghost an' 'aunts in there o' a neet. Perticler when th' moon's on th'

wain and the gap a'tween the worlds is thin; like now. No, young woman.' He waved a forefinger, gnarled and broken by hard work, 'Tek me word fer it an' stay out o' there o'

neets. But ar knows as 'ow yer wunner, so yer need ter talk ter ol' George when he get in. Should be in 'ere any time now. 'E were the las' one ter go down there, about a year ago it were. They let 'im out o' hospital las' month. Said as 'ow 'e were cured they did.

Fat lot they knows!' 'So how old is old George then? I mean he may have some good stories we could use.

He'd get paid for them of course.' 'Aye Miss, I spects' as 'ow he'd like that an' all. It'd eke out 'is pension like. Dunno 'ow

old he is, not exact like, but he can't be ... well yer can ask 'im fer yersen, 'e's just come through t' doo-or.'

Old George, leaning heavily on two walking sticks, hobbled painfully through the door.

He had once been a striking figure of a man, but his clothes, and where visible his skin, now hung off his body fitting only where they touched, what was left of his hair was

gleaming white, and he was hunched over as if he had been stricken with palsy. The shuffling, faltering, doddering, steps took him to the nearest chair into which he col-

lapsed, bonelessly. One of the club stewards took him a LARGE mug of tea which he drained almost without pausing for breath.

'There yo' am Miss,' said Mr. Mike. 'That's old George, now yo' come on across an' I'll

introduce yer. When 'e gets is breath back yer can ask 'im 'bout th' quarry sidin's. If 'e throws a wobbly we can send fer 'is missus, an' th' ambulance.'

Introductions were duly made, and the researcher revealed her mission. George shuddered and a fearful grimace crossed his face. 'Dunt goo nowhere near

that sidin' o' a neet, lass.' He issued the stern injunction. 'Not nowhere near! Not if you

values yer sanity. Stand on th' road an look an' listen if yer wants, but dun't goo pas' th' gate. Yer'll be

safe enow ont tarmac, they wun't come past brook inside the wire, but never walk through that gate in th' dark.'

The researcher was unimpressed. 'Sounds aren't very exciting, George. What we need is some action, some movement, then the sounds will make sense to the viewers.'

Old George was equally unimpressed with the researcher‘s attitude. 'You'll get all the movement you like if yer goes in there o' a night, Miss. It'll run down th' inside o' your legs and fill yer shoes.'

'You mean it's that dangerous? Come on now! In this country I hardly think so, George.'

'Well I didn't twelve month ago neither. But I suppose, if it'll keep yer from getting yourself killed or some'in', I'd better tell you what happened to me; twelve months ago tomorrow.'

He sat back in his chair and a far-away, slightly fearful, look came over his face. 'Then, I was a driver on th' light railway in the quarry. I say driver but we did lots of other things an' all, laid track, acted as guard, signalman, and loaders, anything that was needed to keep things moving.'

The researcher noticed that his diction had improved as he told the story. 'Twere the last shift before we shut down to move the kit to the new pit and I was safety man. I had

to make sure that all the shift where off site, all the kit in the right places and keys in the lock box. Then I could go on holiday for two weeks. We was goin' to the Costa Fortune.' There was a brief, hollow, snort

of laughter at the memory. I was th' last man on site, it was getting to be very dark and I was coming back from having a last

look round the siding when I heard it; the rumble and squeal of wheels on th' track.

The researcher looked up from her notes. 'Just a minute please, George. You where the only person on site yet someone was moving stuff about? Is that right?'

'That's right. I thought that somebody had come back for somethin' when I realised that the sound was coming from the place I'd just checked was clear: the sidings. Somebody was mucking about I

thought, an' it were up to me to stop 'em afore they got hurt. I got me mobile out an' called the boss an' the Police.' A fresh mug of tea appeared on the table as the listeners crowded around to hear the tale. George, immersed in his memories, never even looked up.

''That were when I saw a loco headlight coming towards me. I knew there weren't no loco's out, they'd all been sold off or were in't loco shed. Anyway I turned me lamp to red and gave the driver a

flash to let him know he'd got stop as there was a problem ahead, the rails had been taken up earlier on, but 'e didn't. He just came right on over the missing section an' past me. That were when I saw 'im wave at me in thanks, and I recognised ‗im.

It were the haunt of Frank who used to be th' head driver, 'e were takin' the ghost of Number Seven for th' last trip round, just like he always did when he was alive. Number Seven was the one he'd been

killed in, his head taken clean off when the drive chain sheared. It were scrapped after that. The worst bit, definite the worst bit, was that his head was on the seat alongside him, and it winked at me as 'e

went past. The paddy cars he was pulling where full of other folks who used to work in the quarry. That was where I was when the Police found me hours later.'

'So tell me this, George. If you can remember all those folks you must be a fair old age. Just how old

are you?' George slowly shook his head, 'It'll be me birthday next Wednesday,' he replied, 'If I make it that far,

I'll be twenty seven.'

GLOSSARY. For those not familiar with English dialects. Dialects are alive and well in the UK it is often possible to tell which city/town,

sometimes an area in one of them, a person comes from by the way that words are used and pronounced. The following list, it's not exhaus-tive by any means, may help with understanding the above piece of idiosyncratic writing.

An' - and. An't - hasn't. 'as - has. Ain't - aren't [mispronounced] 'aunts - ghosts. Aye - Yes or another general affirmative. B' - Be or by according to context. Bin - been but sometimes what it says.

Dee - Day. Dunno – don't know. enow - enough. Fer – for. g' – Go. lung - long [mispronounced] o' - of or all [according to context]. Ol'- old. On - of. Neet – night Reet - right sin - seen

Tek - take. Thrun – thrown. t - to, sometimes the. th' - the Yer/yerz you. Yer'll - you will. Yersen - yourself yon - abbreviation of yonder. You'm - you are

wot - what. Wunt - Won't or would not. Wunner - won't

8

The Gardening Tips series was produced by well known local gardening expert Mrs. FM Hartley as monthly gardening items which featured on an audio news-tape produced locally for partially sighted people. (Link To Stafford & Stone Talking Newspaper. Link To R.N.I.B.)

As such the articles are meant to be read individu-ally and not as chapters of a book. The articles were written over a period of some 7 years. RBW is absolutely delighted that Mrs Hartley has agreed to some of her words of gardening wisdom gathered over nine decades being reproduced for our benefit by her son, Alan.

Gardening Tips Week Ending November 8th 2008

Hello Folks

Some of the trees such as the Chestnut and Sycamore already have plenty of

colour with their leaves changing. They always seem to be the first with the other

broad leaf trees, but trees like the Rowans and Birch are also starting to colour up

well so there is much more colour to come I think as Autumn sets in.

However, you can still do some planting. The garden centres have gone in for

a Amaryllis bulbs this year. There are two main types, the Amaryllis Belladona are

hardy and prefer a fairly dry light soil, but the Amaryllis Hipeastrum are indoor

only. Sometimes the indoor ones are sold loose and sometimes sold in boxes. As

with all bulbs they should feel firm and if not don’t buy them. When potting the in-

door type the bulb should be half out of the soil and the pot not much larger than

the bulb, there should be just enough room between the bulb and the pot to put a

finger. They are expensive, but will flower year after year if treated properly.

Some of the garden centres have started to reduce the price of Daffodils, Nar-

cissi and Tulips. These are worth looking out for, and if you pot a few up and get

them growing, they make nice Christmas presents, although they probably won’t

actually be in flower for Christmas. (One of the papers showed a picture of some

daffodils in a garden in flower naturally a week ago down south!)

Some places are having end of season sales and are selling off perennials

rather than potting them on and holding on to stock. It may be worth having a look.

Autumn is in fact the best time to buy and plant outdoor trees, shrubs and plants in

general. Traditionally garden centres used to buy all their new stock in at this time

so that it could be potted/planted and the roots could establish themselves in the

soil without the energy from the plant being drained by lots of leaves. Then, when

the Spring comes, the plants are settled and ready to burst into growth. Nowadays

people want to buy everything when it’s growing and in flower, but it is not really

good for the plants.

If you buy Herbaceous plants they look especially sad at this time, but if you

tidy them up, give them a good soak and get them in the ground they will reward

you in the Spring. I have seen Christmas Cactus on sale in full flower already, but

is far better to buy them in tight bud, as if they are moved when in full flower they

tend to drop their flowers. I have two lovely Penstemons still in flower making a splash of pink

and red in the borders, but I don’t cut the dead flower stems off till the Spring as they help to pro-

tect the young shoots for next year.

The Geraniums are still out at the moment as well making a show so it is a shame to compost

them yet, may as well make the most of them. But, I have emptied some of the tubs and baskets

that were starting to look sad and I have started to cut some of the top growth off things like the

Houttynia in the fish pond. Otherwise there is not really much to do in the garden now but keep the

grass cut and generally tidy up.

Now is a good time to plant berries, nuts and seeds collected from the garden and hedgerow.

Many of them need to be outside for the winter to stratify, or get frosted, before they will germi-

nate properly in the Spring. Some of the berries are best if the seed is removed from the fruit be-

fore planting as this would otherwise rot and may damage the seed. Other tree and shrub seeds are

best planted in compost containing a good mix of leaf mould to simulate the natural conditions

they would have on the forest floor.

Before harvesting Parsnips let them have a good frosting as this converts the starch in them

into sugars which will make them much better tasting.

Plant Wallflowers and Sweet Williams for flowering in the late spring after the early bulbs

have finished but do remember that they will still be flowering when it is time to plant your Sum-

mer bedding.

Days are getting more dull and dreary, but there is still work to be done in the garden. Garden

Centres are getting bare root shrubs, fruit bushes, etc in now, as it is a good time to plant. If the

plants roots are Hessian wrapped slit the wrapping here and there as the true Hessian will rot, but

woven plastic and other types of plastic wrapping will not and must be carefully removed. If the

roots on your new plant look even slightly dry stand it in a bucket of water for a while before

planting. It may sound a silly remark about plastic not rotting, but a few years ago I was helping a

neighbour, who had been a widow for only about two years, who she said she didn’t know much

about gardening. She asked me ―What can I do about these rhododendrons they don’t seem to be

growing.‖ When I dug them up I found they had been planted in the garden still in the plastic pots

that they had been sold in 3 or 4 years previously. I forked the ground over, added some fertilizer,

soaked the planting holes, replanted them and they now flower well.

Prices on Winter Pansies vary a lot, but are

mostly £2.50 for 6. These will be F1 Hybrids I

think and the cheapest I have seen are 99p for

6 plants, probably F2, which will be smaller

flowers. Garden Centres will be selling bulbs

off soon and as long as they are not too dry

they are well worth buying.

It is time to check panes of glass in the

Greenhouse and get bubble wrap ready to line

it for the Winter. I also keep a supply of horti-

cultural fleece ready to drop

over plants. This does not

sweat like polythene, but

gives some protection

against the cold and

especially draughts.

Well that’s all for now.

Frances Hartley

Random words: Saturday unnecessary flip doctor Clarice anniversary intelligent monitor

traffic mountain mature breeze

Clarice regarded her son with a mixture of love and concern. The doctor had said he needed rest, and had forbidden visitors other than parents.

―He needs to avoid all unnecessary excitement and stimulation,‖ she was told. ―But don‘t worry, he‘ll be fine. He grinned. ―The flip side is, he‘ll never be able to ride that bike of his again‖. It was hard seeing him hooked up to all that equipment; drips, heart monitor, oxygen masks and so forth, but she

was an intelligent woman, and so realised it was for the best, so was happy to go along with whatever the medics advised. But it hadn‘t been the way she and Mike had planned to spend their 20th wedding

anniversary. That Saturday two weeks ago had changed all their plans, when Tom had a serious traffic accident and ended up in intensive care. When she saw the twisted bicycle frame, she knew he‘d been lucky to survive. She worried how he would he cope without his beloved mountain bike and the feeling

of the breeze in his hair? Still, he was mature for his age, and she was sure he would find other inter-ests and passions. (PMW)

The door is locked and bolted, windows tightly shut, The covers are pulled over, communication cut! My brain is getting lazy, no words will form and rhyme, No poems can be written at this frustrating time. I can‘t pull out the words I need, prisoners within, My poorest thoughts are mangled, dizzy, in a spin. I love to play with words but now they‘re acting shy, Floating in the air, waving fond goodbye. I hope that someone, somewhere, will recognise my plight, And help me find the answer to why I cannot write.

Photo credit

C Massey

Keeping to the schedule

Surveyors are banging the pegs in, Track panels are there, in heap

Tonnes of ballast arrive by the truck load. There's a schedule that we're going to keep.

The old signals are all out of action A new system; and that won't be cheap!

Right now, we're just getting the flags out All to the schedule that we've got to keep.

The track gang's at work with the digger With earth all piled up in a heap. A dumper truck scuttles to shift it

To the schedule that we've got to keep.

By flat car you get to the rail-head Though the mud, and the things in a heap

Your clothes are all cruddy and filthy, But there's that schedule that we need to keep.

There's a two metre ribbon of bare earth Through a trackless and wild upland heath.

Just waiting for us to lay track there To that the schedule that we want to keep.

We're heading, at speed, towards 'Queensville', The name given on the work sheet.

There the track becomes a turntable, So says the schedule, that we'll try to keep.

The footways are getting quite churned up There's no way to keep it all neat.

With level crossings and track work ongoing, To that schedule we'd quite like to keep.

The site's a hole, and it's brim full of water. Winter's arrived, and it's got us all beat,

Me, well I blames the weather, And that schedule that we tried to keep.

© Clive Hewitt Oct 2014 With apologies to my friends on the track gangs

who know that, other than during the rain, it's really quite enjoyable.

Dev Deepawali (Varanasi) RESEARCH

The Dev Deepavali ("the Diwali of the Gods" or "Festival of Lights of the Gods") is the festival of Kartik

Poornima celebrated in Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh, India. It falls on the full moon of the Hindu month of Kartika (November - December) and takes place fifteen days after Diwali. The steps of all the ghats on

the riverfront of the Ganges River, from Ravidas Ghat at the southern end to Rajghat, are lit with more than a million earthen lamps (diyas) in honour of Ganga, the Ganges, and its presiding goddess. The gods are believed to descend to Earth to bathe in the Ganges on this day. The festival is also observed

as Tripura Purnima Snan. The tradition of lighting the lamps on the Dev Deepawali festival day was first started at the Panchganga Ghat in 1985. During Dev Deepawali, houses are decorated with oil lamps

and coloured designs on their front doors. Firecrackers are burnt at night, processions of decorated dei-ties are taken out into the streets of Varanasi,

and oil lamps are set afloat on the river.

Rituals

The main rituals per-

formed by devotees consist of kartik snan

(taking a holy bath in the Ganges during Kar-tika) and deepdan

(offering of oil lighted lamps) to Ganga in the

evening. The Ganga aarti is performed in the

evening.

The 5 day festival starts on Prabodhini Ekadashi

(11th lunar day of Kartika) and concludes on Kartik Poornima. Besides a religious role, the festival is also the occasion when the martyrs are remembered at the ghats by worshipping Ganga and lighting lamps

watching the aarti. This is organized by Ganga Seva Nidhi when wreaths are placed at Amar Jawan Jyoti at Dashashwamedh Ghat and also at the adjoining Rajendra Prasad Ghat by police officials of the Vara-

nasi District, 39 Gorkha Training Centre, 95 CRPF battalion, 4 Air Force Selection Board and 7 UP battal-ion of NCC (naval), Benares Hindu University (BHU). The traditional last post is also performed by all the three armed forces (Army, Navy and Air force), followed by a closing ceremony, where sky lamps are lit.

Patriotic songs, hymns, and bhajans are sung and the Bhagirath Shourya Samman awards are pre-sented.

The festival is a major tourist attraction, and the sight of a million lamps (both floating and fixed) light-

ing the ghats and river in vivid colours have often been described by visitors and tourists as a breathtak-ing sight. On the night of the festival, thousands of devotees from the holy city of Varanasi, surrounding villages, and across the country gather in the evening on the ghats of the Ganges to watch the aarti. The local government makes several intensive security arrangements to ensure order during the festival.

Apart from the aarti at the Dashameshwar Ghat, all buildings and houses are lit with earthen lamps. Nearly 100,000 pilgrims visit the riverfront to watch the river aglitter with lamps. The aarti is performed

by 21 young Brahmin priests and 24 girls. The rituals involve chanting hymns, rhythmic drum beating, conch shell blowing, and brazier burning. Boat rides (in boats of all sizes) along the riverfront in the eve-

ning are popular among tourists, when all the ghats are lit with lamps and aarti is being performed.

(Source material : Wikipedia ... The research is for the RBW joint story project)

Random Words doctor anniversary intelligent monitor unnecessary flip traffic moun-tain mature breeze Saturday Clarice As Clarice became more mature she began to doubt she had ever been intelligent. True, she had done well at school –been a monitor, written a weekly mountain of

stuff for her poor English teacher. The scholarship had been a breeze. But on the 60th anniversary of that Saturday they‘d all sat the silly thing, she thought how un-necessary it had been. People she knew who had ‗failed‘ went on to do very well academically. One had become a doctor, one a lawyer, and three were teachers just like herself. A flip of the coin all those years ago had decided her fate, had decided which flat her mother chose and therefore which school Clarice would attend. It was one where children were trained to ‗pass‘. Where they did mental arithmetic speed tests every morning, learned clichés – ‗as sharp as a needle‘, ‗as black as pitch‘ – chanted their tables, completed comprehension exercises, looked up the ‗answers‘ and left nothing to the dangers of thought or creativity. Consequently children from far and wide braved the traffic to attend that working class school, which channelled over 100 into grammar school every year.

ANON Assignment

Immortal invisible, anon is his name Or he might be a lady, the point is the same.

He/she‘s guarded our culture Since culture‘s bright morn

Since language‘s birthday and intellect‘s dawn.

RBW FICTION PROJECT FOR 2014/15 NOTES: ( CHANGES )

Story so far. There isn't one! Not yet, just a few plot strands ...

We have a place, a few names, some with a few character traits. What we need is more input into the plot lines, a few sub-plots would help as well.

This is a listing of what we have so far as a thinking aid. Place: Sometime in the 1890s The Grand Cosmopolitan Shipping Line Chain: The Nasturtium Hotel (GNH) in Trentby-on-Sea

a place that has a similarity to Southampton, this fair city is twinned with Murmansk and has a decided international flavour about it. Despite recent squabbles with Russia, France and certain other countries all rich spending foreigners are welcomed – particularly those with £££$$$ and other currency in their purses/pockets/reticules/wallets.

Time Span: Between the arrival and departure of the clipper ship The Star of Coldwynd Bay. About 3 weeks.

Hotel: The GNH is owned by The Cosmopolitan Shipping Line and is the usual Victorian Hotel. It has three classes of accommoda-

tion, that are roughly: Suites [1st floor] for those with money and the POSH nobs. Rooms [2nd and 3rd floors] for the not so well off. Accommodation [tiny attic rooms, top floor back] for anyone else

Staff: Basil Bluddschott (70's) – Manager Mrs. Cynthia Bluddschott (20's) - 2nd (trophy) wife of Basil

Daniel Bluddschott (40) – Son of Basil by 1st wife Miss Marian Bluddschott (35) – Daughter of Basil by 1st wife

Mrs. Natasha Bluddschott (34) – wife of Daniel Roberto Manchini - Italian chef; has the hots for Natasha who returns the compliment. Mrs. Bertha Buckett – Breakfast Cook in Charge Peter, the porter

Nancy Scullery maid, Betty Chambermaid Guests:

Lady Vera Accrington and Lady Gloria Stanley – a couple of old biddies with a chequered past who are enjoying themselves their Ward Dorothy ... much admired by the Maharajah Major Martin – May be the ADC to the Prince of ??

The Russian Prince of ?? Referred to as Mr. Smith; even tho' everybody know who he is. Daphne Du Worrier - Writer Capt. Fowlnett – Recently appointed skipper of the clipper ship The Star of Coldwynd Bay. He may be a little short on experi-

ence as his last job was skipper of the IOW ferry. [Hey! How difficult can it be to find India or China?] St. John Smythe – Tea planter with holdings in Assam. The Maharajah of Loovinda and valet George

The Sheik of the province of Kebab. Walter Wales – Travel writer for Thos. Cooke.

Murray Durrisdane — Jade Buddha/Stone of Kali seeker — Jamie Burke — Alexander Mulrose baddies Russians? in room 212

Music Hall turns playing at 'The Winter Gardens', Also staying the GNH some in suites some in the Accommodation class. Miranda Barkley – maybe mistress of the Prince of ??

Dario Stanza – singer Vesta Currie – hot stuff on the stage Cystic Peg – Medium / Seances

Dan Fatso – Charlie Chaplin type ALSO listed:

Opium – not then illegal Ivory + Diamond dealer Boniface Monkface Jade - A rare Jade Buddha with spiritual & heritage significance is specifically noted by its absence..

NOTES: CHECK THE DATE! Q. Victoria is Empress. Osborne House IoW is her fav. des. res. 1. Gas lighting or oil lamps – no public electricity supply about for another couple of decades; unless the hotel has its own

generator, electrical lighting is out. 2. Horses and carriages in the streets, steam trains for long distances and on the dockside. Trams may be available in some

areas. 3. Limited number of phones, usually locally between ministries or business offices. Messengers or Royal Mail normally used. Telegrams are available.

RBW Library Workshop group are working on a script for the next book. The ideas so far include a hotel in

the 1890s with as diverse a mix of travellers about to de-part for the far east as it is possible to squeeze into the

plot. Obviously the action will take place in Trentby-on-Sea, twinned with Murmansk, and

the establishment will be man-aged by Basil Bluddschott and his new wife Cynthia. If you‘ve ever watched a Carry On film you will have had all the training you‘d need to join in.

The annual joint project ...

The joint comedy is good practice in group co-operation, character building, plotting, dialogue, storyline arc etc and

besides it‘s hilarious to write.

What is more people actually read our free e-books ... Some brave souls even give us LIKES on Facebook

How unexpected was that ...

Once you‘ve written in one of our comedies you should be able to write anything equally as challenging on your own.

The Strange Guests Betty knocked tentatively on the door of room number 212. Voices from within told

her that the occupants were still there, but it was now late in the morning and unless she was able to make their bed very soon she wouldn‘t have time to get ready for her

lunchtime duties. She hadn‘t yet met the couple in 212, but Elsie, who normally did this room, said they were foreigners and ‗a bit funny‘.

The door opened a fraction, and a pair of eyes peered out through the crack. When they recognized Betty‘s chambermaid uniform and cleaning gear, the door was opened more fully and a youngish woman, plainly dressed and with her hair tied severely back, poked her head out and quickly glanced each way down the corridor to ascertain there was no-one else there, and then pulled Betty quickly inside and locked the door behind her.

The air inside was thick with smoke. A great mass of papers littered the table by the window, with more on the floor. Seated at the table was a man in shirt-sleeves and waistcoat, with a pen in his hand. The woman spoke to him in a foreign language, and he then turned to face Betty.

‗If you please, sir; I‘ve come to make the bed and tidy the room‘, said Betty. ‗And what is your name, child?‘ His accent was so strong that Betty had difficulty un-

derstanding him. ‗Betty Worthing, if you please, sir‘. She dropped him a little curtsy, because she

sensed that, despite the fact that his clothes were rather shabby and that he and his wife were occupying one of the cheapest rooms in the hotel, he was nevertheless a gentleman.

‗Ah, Betty Worthing, yes‘. (He pronounced it as ‗Vording‘) ‗You may clean the room, child. But you must never touch my papers. Never, you understand?‘

‗Yes, sir‘. Betty proceeded with her work, conscious that the couple were closely watching her every movement. She was careful not to touch a single paper, however much she longed to stack them in a neat pile and dust all the cigarette ash from the

table. She allowed herself no more than a single fleeting glance at one paper, which was not only in a foreign language, but written in strange letters which she could not read. At last she finished her work, curtsied to the couple and let herself out. They were indeed ‗a bit funny‘!

Betty was assigned to room 212 for the next few weeks. She never found the room empty, at any time of the day. The strange couple always had their breakfast in the room, and never went down to the dining room together for other meals. Sometimes the man went out for a walk on his own, or the woman went shopping, and to post letters. They wrote a lot of letters, often to foreign countries. Sometimes they had visi-tors, mostly other foreigners, and then animated conversations continued throughout the night.

As the man became more accustomed to Betty‘s presence, he began to ask her

questions; about how much she was paid and the hours she had to work; about her family and life in the town. Often he made notes about her answers. In time she found it easier to understand him, though he never learnt to pronounce her name properly. In an odd way, she liked him. His wife said little. Betty worked out from their conversa-tions (which were never in English) that she was called ‗Nadezhda‘ and that she called her husband ‗Illyich‘. That‘s a very strange name, Betty thought.

Then one day the clerk at the hotel reception desk called Betty over. ‗There‘s a man wants to speak to you‘, he told her, indicating a respectably-dressed stranger seated near the entrance. ‗He says it‘s important‘.

Betty didn‘t usually like to be seen walking out with strange men, but she allowed him to take her to a café (where fortunately there wasn‘t anyone who would recognize

her) and they sat in a quiet corner. She remained on her guard, and hoped he wouldn‘t suggest anything improper.

‗You are Betty Worthing, chambermaid at the hotel?‘ He asked, and she nodded. ‗And you clean room number 212, where live a man and a woman, yes? Tell me now, how does he look?‘

Betty considered. This man was clearly another foreigner; perhaps from the same country as the couple in 212, since he pronounced her name in the same way. What was going on, she wondered. But she saw no harm in answering his question.

‗He‘s not very tall, and his forehead‘s bald. He‘s got a little beard. He‘s got high cheekbones and his eyes are a bit slanted. I think his wife calls him Illych‘.

‗Ah yes! It is him!‘ the man hissed, ‗And his woman, Nadezhda, she is very plain, yes? She is not his wife, you know. Immoral behaviour! Yes, a very bad couple! Most

wicked!‘ Betty stiffened. Her brother was living with a girl who wasn‘t his wife, and although

she didn‘t approve of such behaviour, she didn‘t see why strangers had any right to make remarks about it.

‗Are they criminals?‘ she asked. ‗Shouldn‘t you tell the police?‘ ‗Ach, your police; they are so stupid! Just because this man commits no crime under

your law, they ignore him! But this man, he is more dangerous than any robber; far more dangerous! But you can help us. He has many papers in his room, yes? Then per-haps you can bring some to us: you will be rewarded. Or does he let you post letters for him? No? Then you can persuade him to, and bring them to us. And also the letters he receives, yes?‘

Betty found herself disliking the man more and more. She might only be a chamber-

maid, but she still had some professional pride; and the suggestion that she, an honest girl working in a respectable hotel, might steal a guest‘s papers and letters ….. the very idea! And why should a foreigner say the British police were stupid: what an insult! On the other hand, she was tempted. It wasn‘t so much the promise of a reward, though heaven knows she could do with more money. But she‘d always had the dream that she might one day be the heroine of a great adventure mystery, and now it looked as if the dream might be coming true.

‗I‘ll see what I can do, sir‘, she said, cautiously. (To be continued!)

WELCOME to a new writer for this story

RBW team think it would be a good idea for any new writer to do exactly as this writer has done and write a story about the guests in any particular room

which will form a piece in the patchwork of the story of the hotel.

‗Good Morning, sir,‘ said Mr Bluddschott copying the humble tones of Uriah Heap ... Mr Bluddschott was a keen follower of the excellent Mr Charles Dickens and as a youngster had very much enjoyed his theatrical readings whenever he visited the Winter Gardens. ‗Welcome to the Grand Nasturtium.‘

‗I have a reservation,‘ said the gentleman obviously from the far-east. The Manager knew the type, gentleman of the Indian tea-trade, he expected, one

could tell by the exquisite cut of their coat and the diamond pin in the discreet silk cra-vat. The guest oozed good taste and a fat pocket book.

‗Suite Four. If you‘ll be kind enough to sign the book, Mr ....‘ ‗Varanasi,‘ the man said with no glimmer of a smile. Anyone with the slightest knowl-

edge of the sub-continent would have raised an eye-brow but not Mr Bluddschott whose world view was limited, he had not so much as even ever taken a ferry to the Isle of Wight.

At that moment Murray in Nancy‘s shadow was crossing the back stairs near by the front desk and heard the name. Nancy wasn‘t quick enough and Mr B caught sight of her.

‗Nancy, tell Dan to take these bags up to Suite Four.‘ Nancy‘s face fell, perhaps he didn‘t know Dan had passed on. The luggage was large

and weighty. A trunk, two leather cases, two bags and a carpet bag. The man was going on the Bombay packet by the look of it. Murray stepped forward as the guest wandered towards the restaurant where breakfast was still being served. ‗He‘s passed, sir. Mrs Bucket‘s waiting on the takers.‘

‗I‘ll do it, sir.‘ Bluddschott gasped and grabbed Murray by the arm. ‗So you‘re the new boots are

you.‘ Bluddschott was always amazed by Mrs Bucket‘s efficiency. If only that lazy chef his dearest had insisted upon was half so ...

Murray nodded and touched his forelock as it seemed appropriate. He had no idea what a new boots entailed or what had happed to the old boots but any port in a storm.

‗He can‘t go about front of house in those ...,‘ said an approaching voice. Murray

glanced at what he supposed was Mrs Bluddschott in surprise. The wasp-waisted woman was a good deal younger than her husband and the word ‗flash‘ seemed apt.

‗Quite right my dear, absolutely,‘ her husband agreed. He‘d soon learned to agree with every word those cherry lips uttered.

‗Take the bags up and then see Mrs Bucket about a uniform. Tell her you‘ll do as the new boots.‘

Murray again tugged his forelock and shuffled towards the luggage. Nancy was grin-ning. Murray tried a grin in reply. He‘d only been here a few hours and already he‘d been promoted from vagabond at death‘s door to member of the permanent staff complete with uniform.

He didn‘t know then his first job as ‗new boots‘ would be to strip the uniform off the still warm corpse of the ‗old boots‘ or that the recently deceased‘s still warm bed was

now destined to be his own. He did learn something about architecture though. Whoever had designed the backstairs had thoughtfully ensured it was wide enough to slide a cof-fin down between the banisters so guests need not be inconvenienced. That knowledge may come in handy.

Walter Wales‘s Travels ACW From Russia with Fondness

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Krátký,_F._-_Petrohrad_-_Drožka_u_př%C3%ADstavu_(1896).jpg

Walt was pleased to have returned home after his travels in Russia. The mistake that had landed him in Murmansk, that was merely a small village of fishing folk, had shown him the frozen sea above the Arctic Circle, as a tale of travel mishaps in far off lands. So he had decided to write up Murmansk as if the luxury of St Petersburg, with its magnificent boulevards and beautiful Victorian buildings and even copies of French chateaux‘s on reflecting pools. As there was yet no railway line nor ease of shipping passage to Murmansk, no-one would find out, calling Murmansk a suburb of that great city. What traveller in those days, would know the difference. When he did get back to St Petersburg, he was astounded by the fine buildings in a gorgeous prosperous city.

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:SPB_Nevsky_Prospekt_and_Admiralty_1890-1900.jpg

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:SPB_War_Offices_(Lobanov-Rostovsky_palace)_1890-1900.jpg

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:St_pete_duma_1890s.jpg

Walter had visited the summer palace of the Russian royal family called Peterhof, sport-ing gold fountains in beautiful landscaped parkland and a canal to the sea.

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Saint_Petersburg_in_the_1890s#mediaviewer/File:Peterhof_View_on_Big_cascade_from_top_terrace_1890-1900.jpg

In a city with its million in population and its own beautiful Stock Exchange, that rivalled London. The Hermitage, built by Catherine the Great, that staggered Walt with its Egyptian and classical Greek and Roman antiquities and one of the biggest art collections in the world. The great Winter Palace with its red painted façade overlooking the great Neva River, had 700 rooms, mostly in Victorian high style, with the 3 floored building atopped with new copper statues. And even portrayed in his book that he stayed during his visit at the Pavlovsk Palace surrounded by its English landscaped garden, as an honoured guest of the Russian royal family.

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Saint_Petersburg_in_the_1890s#mediaviewer/File:Pavlovsk_Palace_1890-1900.jpg

His wildly exaggerated storytelling had brought him as a free hotel guest in the best room in the hotel in Trentby-on-Sea, which was twinned with Murmansk, a free passage to India and probably more luxury to come in the best of abodes in Calcutta.

See it‘s easy to join in ... So what‘s stopping you? Take a room in that hotel in the 1890s...

Decide who are the characters and what is their story. How hard can that be for a writer? ...

Fowlnett at the winter gardens This, thought Captain Toby Fowlnett, is the worst room I have ever had in my whole

life. Not even a stoker should be this badly housed. He looked around the company-staff room he'd been allocated. 'The Grand Nasturtium‘ indeed. There's nothing grand

about the place! The room was a 9 foot per side cube containing a small, single, bed, a tall heavy

wardrobe, a washstand and a chair all of which showed sign of being rejects from a junk pile, fit only for burning; although they may not even have been good enough for that. The walls had, once, been a pleasant light green, which now faded to an unpleas-ant off white or darkened to brown where the sunlight from the one tiny window didn't reach, and the smoke darkened ceiling it lent the room an eerie, other worldly feeling.

Turning to the maid servant who had shown him to this desperate excuse for a room he asked, 'Are you sure that this is the right room?'

The maid checked the key, and the door, before replying, 'Definitely Captain! In fact it's 'bout th' only room in the place what ain't been taken b' paying guests. Th' neces-sary room, sir, is on the next floor down, three doors down the corridor on't right, an'

you're in th' Green Room for brekfus' and evenin' meals. All comp'ny staff, sir, is re-quired to provide their own lunches. Should sir require one, baths may b' taken by ar-rangement wi' th' reception desk. The bath 'ouse is over in th' outbuildin's, an' soap an' towels ain't provided. I'll 'ave your trunk sent up directly. Is there anything else, Cap-tain?'

She paused as if in thought, however, realising that she was waiting for a tip, one that she wasn't going to get, Fowlnett stepped out of the room saying, 'I don't believe you, girl. This room is unacceptable, totally out of the question! More like the room for an out-of-work stevedore than the Captain of the S.S. Star of Coldwynd Bay, the pride of the fleet. I'm going back to the reception desk and get something better than this … this … rabbit hutch. Follow me, and bring that bag with you!'

On the way down he met a fat man, accompanied by an equally heavily built woman,

coming up. The stairway was too narrow for them to pass and it was necessary for the fuming Fowlnett to go back a few steps to the landing.

―Sank you zo mooch,' said the fat man in what Fowlnett, who wasn't any good on them, thought was an accent of some kind. 'Pleased to be accepting thees teeckot for you kindling-ness. Thinking you.' A piece of cardboard was thrust into his breast pocket and the couple passed on down the corridor.

The maid, who had caught up with him, said, 'If you don't want that ticket, sir, I'll gladly take it off your 'ands for a shilling. Scarcer than hens teeth they is and I'd love to go and listen to him.'

Although still fuming about the room, Fowlnett had caught the 'scarcer than hens teeth' and the 'listen to him' bits. 'Listen? Listen to whom, girl?' Maybe his tone was a bit sharper than he thought it was, but the maid was more surprised than frightened.

'Why, 'im, sir? The man what jus' give you that ticket! Senior Dario Stanza, th' oper-atic singer at th' Winter Garden theatre. The plump lady what was with him is Cystic Peg, the mystic on the bill there. She's said to be very good, an all. They're both stayin' here; in th' 'commodation rooms.'

An hour later, and still fuming with indignation, Fowlnett found himself back at the room he'd turned down as a rabbit hutch.

As the man behind the reception desk had explained, with very obviously false commis-eration. 'The company regrets that you find the room unsatisfactory, Captain Fowlnett. However, all our rooms are taken until the Star sails, and heavens only know when that will be!

‗The wharfingers are saying that the condition of the cargo is poor and the dockers have to be very careful how and when they move it. Dirty bills of lading have been mentioned and that means more trouble at the warehouses. Also the rumour is that her coal bunkers are full of slag that will need to be removed before coaling can start. We regret to have to inform you, Captain, that it's either that room, or finding somewhere else to stay. Sir!'

Toby Fowlnett said to himself as he lay back on the too narrow, too short, bed, 'At least I've got that ticket. Now when's the show?' He found that it was for that evening and that it was due to start in ten minutes.

Arriving at the Winter Garden after the performance had begun was deemed to be a

crime worthy of being hung, or that was the impression given by the solitary usher who, grudgingly, found time to spare away from the bar, games of chance, ladies of the night, and other amusements.

Toby Fowlnett found himself being briskly pointed to a dimly lit corridor and told, 'Through the second door, down two sets o' steps, up one set, and it's the las' door on the left, sir, just afore the red curtains.'

The corridor lights grew dimmer and dimmer as he went along until they were a mere red glow in the sconce's. Nothing to it, Toby, he told himself. Anybody who can navigate the harbour can do this. Up two sets of steps and down three and the last door on the right after the red curtains. Easy! You can do it blind folded.

The sound from the auditorium guided him as he groped his way along. It wasn't until his hand found cloth that he knew where he was, 'This must be the curtain they told me about,' he said, as he pulled it aside and stepped forwards and into a boxlike structure. 'Funny they never said that I was in a box. Now where are the seats?'

His hand found a chair arm and he sat down, awkwardly. A flailing arm hit a lever and he found himself catapulted onto the stage at the feet of a man singing to a woman on a low balcony, it was the pair he'd met on the hotel stairs.

Although surprised by his appearance, particularly as he was wearing his uniform, less the hat which had rolled across the stage and disappeared into the orchestra pit. The man displayed professional charisma and carried singing on as if nothing much had happened.

The woman made 'go away' motions with her free hand, and then the hat made its re-appearance.

Flung from the orchestra pit, obviously by someone greatly annoyed by it, the hat sailed through the air intent on eluding the grasp of anyone trying to stop its break for freedom.

Alas things got in the way and, at the peak of its flight, it collided with the scenery, which caused it to descend onto the head of the woman on the balcony.

She, being hit on the head by an unexpected hat, snatched it off and, with a grand op-eratic gesture, flung the offending head-gear towards its owner.

Being used to the glare of the footlights, Dario Stanza, still singing the romantic aria from Dom Figijus, had moved to usher the dazed sailor off the stage. This involved much gesticulating and waving of hands, one sweep of which caught the hat and altered its tra-

jectory and bounced it back towards the orchestra pit, into which it disappeared, again.

Hardly had the ripple of amazement in the audience begun to die away than the hat made a dramatic reappearance. This time it was propelled by the muscular arm of the lead trombonist and almost achieved freedom in the upper works of the stage.

Alas, gravity intervened and it rapidly descended to find lodgement by the footlights, whereupon it began to smoulder.

Meanwhile, Toby Fowlnett, having recovering possession of his faculties, started in pursuit of his errant head wear. Seeing him darting about the stage during a romantic aria the audience though it was a new comedy act and started to laugh.

The quick thinking stage manager brought the curtain down to a roar of laughter. A quicker thinking Dario Stanza, waved Peg down from her balcony, grabbed the con-fused sailor by the collar, told him, 'Just bow when I do', and took three curtain calls to standing ovations.

After turning down an offer to appear twice nightly he left by the stage door, spent the next twenty minutes trying to find his way out of the dead-end street he‘d found himself in, and the subsequent hour and a half trying to find the hotel. He was rescued

by a kindly policeman who assumed he was drunk, and had him locked in the cells for the rest of the night.

Next morning he was fined two shillings, had a stern warning about drunken behav-iour from the local magistrates, and was delivered, under escort, to pier twenty five only to find that it was empty. The S.S. Star of Coldwynd Bay was nowhere to be seen.

STORYTELLING at the

ROSE AND CROWN Market Street, Stafford, ST16 2JZ

Tuesday 28th October. Christine McMahon will be

bringing her show Babycham and Chips; intrigued by the title? It's an intriguing show! Read more here:

https://www.facebook.com/events/722713857821663/

7.00pm start £5.00 entrance fee Stafford Storytelling Club

Food Collection at Stafford Station From Facebook ... Hello ... We are putting TWO charity collection bins in the travel cen-tre at Stafford Station: ONE to collect non perishable foods for the House of Bread

(food bank/homeless soup kitchen) and ONE for food and blankets for Stafford Pet Wel-fare so if you are passing and have anything spare for either of these great charities please drop in ... thank you Other HofB collection sites are: TESCO main store/Rising Brook Co-op/Yorkshire Bank Talking about Food Bank Donations ... this message also from Facebook Some items are in high demand at the food bank. Because they aren‘t essentials, the staff doesn‘t publicly ask for them. A survey asked volunteers what items people would be most appreciative of see the listed below. If you‘re looking for an easy way to help out, pick some of these up while shopping ... 1. Spices. People who rely on food banks eat a lot of canned food, rice, oatmeal, white bread, etc. They love spices. Cayenne pepper, chilli powder, cumin, cinnamon, nutmeg, oreg-ano, basil and curry powder. 2. Feminine Products. Can you imagine being worried about affording these? Pads, tampons, panty liners, etc. 3. Toiletries. To donate toilet paper, tooth paste, soap, deodorant, shampoo, is really appreciated 4. Canned meats . Some food banks struggle to give users enough protein. 5. Baby toiletries. Nappies, baby wipes, baby formula, baby shampoo, baby soap, baby food, bottles, etc.

6. Soup packets and Canned Fruit 7. Socks. Quote from a homeless person: ―Socks mean the world. They keep you warm, make you feel like you have something new and comfort you.‖

Member of Lichfield Poets-Jayne Stanton was born and raised in Lincoln. After study-

ing for a teaching degree she lived and worked abroad for

several years. Since 1989 she has lived in Leicestershire where she

works, writes and plays the fiddle in a ceilidh band, Moggy in the Wood. Her poems have been pub-lished widely in print and online magazines. Beyond the Tune is her first poetry pam-phlet.

Vintage Re-pack the trunk you emptied of ghosts.

Forget the car – find a call box, dig for silver.

Dial for an Austin FX4, a black cab

fare to 1964. You’ll need a tighter skin –

five of you in a Thomson T-Line four-berth.

Unearth the key to its time warp.

Rediscover Pack-a-Macs as beachwear,

resurrect the swing coat, tartan duffle bag;

own the promenade in red T-bar sandals.

Strike a pose in that ruched nylon swimsuit

christened in trawler oil, your profile

caught in the blink of a box Brownie’s eye.

© Jayne Stanton 2014

Copies can be obtained via:

http://jaynestantonpoetry.wordpress.com/

beyond-the-tune/

Welsh writer and photographer, Dave Lewis, has just released

his first non-fiction work. (£2.99 e-book Amazon.) An introduction to the basic rules and principles of photographic

composition.

This e-book contains practical advice on improving composition and taking better photographs. A concise guide, suitable for the complete beginner through to the more serious digital photog-

rapher. It doesn't matter whether you use a professional DSLR, a small

compact or a mobile phone, this book will teach you all there is to know about photographic composition in order to improve your shots.

An easy read, illustrated with over 60 carefully chosen images.

Dave Lewis lives in Pontypridd, South Wales. He has over 25 years experience in photography and has lectured digital pho-tography and Photoshop for the last 8 years.

New Photography E-book Published http://www.davelewisphotography/blog

Amazon - http://amzn.to/1o6veF0

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