Issue 370 16th January 2015

2

Birmingham Library cuts could leave 'empty shell', campaigners warn http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-birmingham-30720185 William Gallagher, an author and Writers' Guild representative, said the proposed cuts were "embarrassing" for the city

and could damage its image. "Birmingham is supposed to be a great place to do business," he said. "But we are show-

ing the world we can't even keep our library open."

If Birmingham City Council's budget proposals for 2015/16 are approved, 100 library staff will lose their jobs and

opening hours in the new library will be reduced from 73 to 40 hours per week.

The skeleton of a holly leaf lying in the grass caught my eye. It looked like cut lace.

Random words : cycle, poor, result, falling, career, Betony,

dreaded, new-moon

Assignment : It never happened — It’s no use asking me

Rising Brook/Holmcroft/

Baswich/Gnosall

Libraries are under threat.

Here‘s an easy resolution COME to WORKSHOP ...

Every Monday 1.30 start Rising Brook Library

je suis

charlie

RBW workshop held a minute of

silence in respect for the murdered

Journalists in Paris.

www.issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

Free Poetry

Competi-

tions

Welcome to our

free poetry com-petitions

page. On here

you can access details about all of our free to

enter poetry competitions

which carry cash prizes and the opportunity to

see your poetry published.

http://www.unitedpres

s.co.uk/free-

poetry-competitions/

You would not believe how true all this is. When looking back our main education was at home, on the farm with the older farm workers, our relatives and all the older folk who lived in the village. On the whole I don't think there was a bad un among them, they all had man-ners and a standard to keep up even though many were almost penniless, as kids we all went to school together.

Ov never bin a clever chap

Ov never bin a clever chap, and never cud I spell, Me sums they‘re a little better, a sorry tale to tell,

School I left at fifteen, me egucation dun,... And working on the farm for, a life that had begun.

Only wrote fa sixty years, letters and replies,

But now ov started writing books, not looking for a prize, Just looking back remembering, n‘ jot em down for luck,

To get it down in order, ―just filled another book‖.

So much to say so little time, writing it is slow, What we did and what we‘re told, I‘ll tell you all I know,

I‘m out me depth, and floundering, learn to sink or swim, So take it all down in small chunks, n‘ fill it to the brim.

We were learned the important thing, on living out our lives,

Learning how to walk and talk, and never telling lies, How to respect your elders, n‘ treat them with respect

Speak only when you‘re spoken to, and answer them direct.

Muttering behind your hand, that surly is the worst, Tell the truth and honest be, n‘ put others always first, Do for others what you‘d expect, others to do for you, A helping hand when needed, and many friend accrue.

8

Gardening Tips January

Hello Folks

Well its another new year and a fresh start again. I hope it will be a happy and

prosperous one for you. Thinking back to some of those Christmas gifts though, if

you had Streptocarpus plants given to you, the ones sold nowadays are improved on

the old ones as they have smaller leaves which don’t take up so much room on a ta-

ble or desk etc, but they still need the same care. You must not get water on the

leaves and must water them from the bottom in a saucer and they want light, but not

direct sunlight.

The Garden Centres all seem to be clearing out their Christmas displays early and

quickly this year and they are getting ready for the Spring sales of seeds and Sum-

mer flowering bulbs. Talking of the Spring, I don’t know whether they think we are

going to have an early Spring this year, with all this preparation, but in any case it is

as well to check your stock of seeds to see if you have got all that you need. The first

plantings that you will make will be Onion Sets and First Early Potatoes and if you

put Garlic in before Christmas it should be growing well by now. If you missed set-

ting some get it in quickly and it should be all right. Why not try growing a few

herbs either from seed or from young plants. Most are available as seed these days

and although they will take a bit longer to establish, they will work out much

cheaper than buying young plants that are already growing. They not only smell nice

in the garden as you brush past them, but are easy to grow and are better for you in

your cooking than salt that is bad for blood pressure. We like Oregano in mixed

vegetables, Mint in Potatoes, Rosemary with Lamb, things like Basil and Bay

Leaves in a Bouquet Garnet for stews or the like, of course Parsley with fish and

Garlic goes well with Pasta or Mince. One or two of the common herbs will require

a sheltered spot like the Bay Trees because they can get damaged badly by sever

frosts and Oregano really needs to be grown in the greenhouse over winter. If you

want to be able to cut fresh Parsley through the Winter you might like to take some

inside the greenhouse and keep it in a pot. Of course alternatively, you could harvest

your herbs in the Summer months and carefully dry them so that they will keep for

use in the following Winter months.

Alan grew a couple of different types of beans in the Summer that we de-

podded and dried. One was a large Bean that looked about the same size as a

Broad Bean and one was smaller and classed as a Kidney Bean. This one ac-

tually had vivid black and white colour bands across the bean making them

look very pretty when they had been cleaned and dried. They might not be

fresh vegetables now, but drying them does mean that we can still have

meals using our own vegetables from the allotment that were harvested back

in the Autumn instead of buying so vegetables many from the shops. The

beans took a bit of drying, spread out on trays in the warmth of the living

room, but seem to keep all right in old drinking chocolate tubs, the ones

with the screw up lids. When we want to use some of the beans we soak them over-

night in a bowl of water and then put them in stews to add a bit of body and home

grown goodness!

Well that’s all for now.

Cheerio Frances Hartley.

Random words :- sails/sales, devious, summary, aftermath, glug, haggis, tent, Ernie

When it came to getting a bargain in the sales, Ernie could be devious. He‘d set his heart on that plasma TV in the Edinburgh department store window and wasn‘t about to lose his chance

of buying it at a knockdown price on January 1st. So, he pitched a tent outside the shop front, set up a sign, directing shoppers to the rear entrance of the store and settled in for the night. He‘d brought haggis sandwiches and several bottles of malt, to keep out the cold and keep his

spirits up (pun intended!) during the wee small hours, and by 8 am, he‘d swallowed the last of the whiskey with a glug, feeling somewhat light-headed. The doors swung open, and the after-math of Ernie‘s bingeing was him in a drunken heap on the pavement. The rest of the queue,

who had realized his duplicity, swarmed past him, and into the electronics section. To make matters worse, the police arrived and carted him off to the station for being drunk and disor-

derly. Summary justice indeed!

Assignment :- avoiding resolutions/ avoiding revolutions In the 1960s, I was a student in Loughborough for four years, studying for my degree in silversmithing. Each November, the fair came to town, and took over the entire high street and many side streets beside. It was huge fun, and we arty folk were sent out with sketch pads and cameras, to cap-ture the highly-charged atmosphere in pencil, pastel and print. Motown was all the rage at that time, and ―Reach out - I‘ll be there‖, by the Four Tops would blare out from the rides, a million dancing light bulbs, swinging overhead in the cold air and accompanying the music. Then there were the smells;- roasted onions and hot dogs, candy floss and toffee apples. A sen-

sory overload. My college days were not always the happiest of my life, even though they were the first time I ex-

perienced romance, and later, love, but oh how I loved those special November days! To me, the rides were so exciting, even though by modern standards they would seem tame. I par-ticularly enjoyed the carousel roundabout, with its gilded horses plunging up and down, which trans-

ported me far away to a land of make-believe. Most of my friends were more daring, and tried all the more daring rides as I watched from the safety of the sidelines, yet still getting a vicarious buzz as they

climbed into the waltzer‘s brightly painted cups and saucers and were flung back and forth and spun around all at the same time. There were rumours abounding that once, one of the cars had come adrift from its moorings and

had hurled folk out, causing serious injury to the revelers and onlookers. But I was fascinated by the mechanism that twirled the cars around and shot them out at wild angles, only to stop at the last minute before they hit the walls of the shops, and I vowed to pluck up courage to experience the thrill for myself.

Time was running out. In a few short hours, the fair would be packing away for another year. It was now or never!

I clambered into an unoccupied cup, and three of my college mates joined me. A man with a leather bag slung across his shoulder came to

collect our fares… and we were off! The sensa-

tion of being shot in and out and twizzled around was at the same time

thrilling and alarming, and I wasn‘t actually sick, but ever since, I

have never had a desire to repeat the experi-

ence, and in fact re-solved to avoid such revolutions at all costs.

(http://www.andrewdunnphoto.com/)

Wikipedia

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

Story so far. Plotlines are developing ...

This is a listing of what we have so far ...

Place: 1897: The Grand Cosmopolitan Shipping Line Chain: The Nasturtium Hotel (GNH) in Trentby-on-Sea a place that has a similarity to Southampton, twinned with Murmansk and has a decided international flavour. Despite recent squabbles with Russia, France, South Africa and certain other countries all rich spending guests are welcomed

Time Span: Between the arrival and departure of the steamship 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 staff

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

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 — gambling debts up to mischief

Antonio Roberto Manchini - Italian chef; has the hots for Marian & Cynthia Mrs. Bertha Buckett – Breakfast Cook in Charge — Peter the porter

Nancy the Scullery maid, Betty the 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 and every other red-blooded male 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. Toby Fowlnett – Recently appointed skipper of the clipper ship The Star of Coldwynd Bay. He may be a little short on

experience 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 his wife and valet George (apologies to Shakespeare, you‘ll see why immediately)

The Sheik of the province of Kebab. (It‘s a farce!!) Walter Wales – hack writer for Capt. Thaddeus Hook travel books Murray Durrisdane (currently a Boots)— (Jamie Burke — Alexander Mulrose — baddies with Estella Murray‘s wife)

Russians? in room 212 Russian Agent Capt. Wild Will Body and his travelling Wild Rodeo Show, Missy Clementine Jane, Big chief Light–in-the-Sky and Texas Jim

McGraw the shootist (may be subject to change) Graf Hubrecht Walther Falscheim, the Graf von Jagerlagerberg involved with Ward Dorothy Kugyrand Rippling South African diamond dealer nasty piece of work

Princess Lotus Lily and her retinue including Fu Chan her major-domo — after a dragan boat and a female buddha

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 – cross-dresser hot stuff on the stage - Miss Maple piano-playing-Temperance Sister

Cystic Peg – Medium / Seances Dan Fatso – Charlie Chaplin type ALSO listed:

Diamond dealer — Boniface Monkface Jade - A rare Jade Buddha with a Kali Stone is specifically noted. A golden laughing Buddha and lots more

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 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 an un-PC plot which pokes fun at everybody. Here outrageous stereotypes are encouraged!

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

OPPORTUNITY: Take a room in the hotel ... Who is waiting to go to India? Why are they going? What are they running away from or towards?

Burke is dead:

The door was unlocked. Varanasi pushed and it yielded without a sound. ‗Come in, why don‘t you?‘ she said. ‗It‘s open house.‘ She was drunk. The room was chilled, the

fire only grey ash and embers, only one oil lamp was lit on the side table where he lay head down.

Varanasi switched hands with the sword stick and placed two fingers on Burke‘s neck. He was already going cold, there was no pulse.

‗He‘s gone, isn‘t he?‘ she said. Estella was slumped on a chaise-longue in the window, a lace

negligee she was nearly wearing covered by a heavy shawl, a bottle of Cognac rolled across the floor as she attempted to stand.

Varanasi didn‘t notice, his full attention was taken by the tableau illuminated by the smoking

lamp. To anyone familiar with the practices of the followers of the dragon Burke had caused his own demise. He‘d chased the dragon one time too many and allowed it to catch him. The fool had clearly overdosed. He had been expecting a visitor. The gun was loaded and positioned on the table

as was the Buddha and more importantly the Kali Stone which lay on Burke‘s open palm glowing in the lamplight.

‗Take it,‘ she said through thickened lips. ‗Take it and be damned. It‘ll kill you, like it killed him and Murray.‘

Varanasi covered the stone with a scrap of silk and deposited it back inside the jade idol. The room seemed to go calm. ‗Murray isn‘t dead.‘

Estella sank onto the divan. ‗You would say that, wouldn‘t you? You killed my Murray, Alexander Mulrose, no matter what you call yourself now.‘

‗We need to move the body,‘ he replied pocketing the statue in his pocket and putting down the sword. ‗You need to

sober up.‘ Estella wrinkled her nose and wandered off towards the bedroom carrying the retrieved brandy. He heard the door lock. She was going to be no help at all. Sisters!

The card game:

‗What was that? Did you hear that?‘ said Natasha mid deal of the cards. No one present replied, nor took their eyes off the dealer‘s lace gloved hands. ‗Oh come, you must have heard it.‘

‗What that soft thud like a body had been thrown off the roof?‘ snarled Rippling, who wasn‘t known for his sense of hu-

mour especially when he was fifty pounds down and still losing. ‗A body off the roof indeed,‘ trilled Lady Vera, flexing her finger joints and twinkling the bonhomie that only pink cham-

pagne and a running flush can accommodate. ‗La sir, you are a caution indeed! Now are you betting or folding?‘

Standing behind Rippling, Lady Gloria winked at her sister and wandered over to the window. It was black as pitch, nothing to be seen.

In point of fact the body had not fallen from the roof, it had slithered from the bay window of the room directly above the illicit card game and landed delicately in shrubbery where its dead weight had caused it to discreetly cover itself from prying eyes and descend to the soil becoming almost invisible except for the boots.

The escape:

An hour later, ‗What was that?‘ asked Nancy as the pair fled through the pantry window and landed by the coal shed. ‗Sounds like Peter‘s trolley,‘ replied Murray straightening his dignity and checking the packet of diamonds was still tight

against his chest, ‗sounds like he‘s carrying something heavy.‘

He took hold of her hand and headed for the tradesman‘s entrance or exit in this case. ‗Peter, up this early. Not a chance!‘ said Nancy as their feet rattled on the cobbles. ‗Where we going?‘ The dawn was

breaking somewhere over in France but in Trentby the first flickers of light wouldn‘t be arriving for another half an hour or

so. They sat on a wall to catch their breath and allow some tipsy sailors to sing their way by on the way to their ship. ‗Lots of places, but first a visit the bank is in order. They don‘t open for a few hours yet and you need some shut-eye.‘ ‗Nah. I need some breakfast,‘ said the girl, ‗fisherman‘s wharf cafe‘ll be open. My treat.‘ She pulled a shilling from her

pocket, ‗It‘s my savings.‘ ‗Pilchards and porta, dripping with butter and black bread,‘ said Murray his mouth already starting to water. ‗The sixpunny special,‘ laughed Nancy still holding his hand as they sauntered along the alley which headed down to-

wards the wharf, she couldn‘t remember ever being so happy in her entire life. It was then that a young lad, red in the face, came sprinting passed, ‗What‘s the rush, laddie?‘ asked Murray.

‗There‘s a body washed up on the beach. I‘ve to fetch the bobby,‘ replied the lad puffing away up the steep incline. As they reached the top of the cliff fifty feet below a small crowd was gathering round the beached corpse being lapped by the incoming tide.

‗Can we go down?‘ asked Nancy. ‗Certainly not, lassie. It‘s no place for the likes of you. Come away there‘s a pint of pilchards with our name on.‘ Murray

didn‘t need to get any closer to the corpse of Jamie Burke, even at this remove he‘d have recognised that stock of hair any-

where. As if in confirmation, a few steps further and the pair couldn‘t help but notice the porter‘s trolley complete with the hotel‘s name burnt into the handle discarded in a briar of brambles a top the cliff path.

‗He‘s been pushed off the top,‘ said Nancy. ‗He ain‘t been washed up.‘

‗Pilchards and porta ...‘ replied Murray. ‗Pilchards and porta.‘

Murray resurrected: ‗I am not accustomed to being summoned,‘ said the diamond dealer as he removed his gloves and took the proffered

chair in front of the bank manager. Dennis Bluddschott, (cousin of Basil) peered over the top of a pair of gold half-moon spectacles and beamed his best attempt at bonhomie. There was an opportunity here.

‗Nay sir, requested, for a transaction of mutual benefit.‘ A bell was rung. The door opened and Murray Durrisdane strode in to the office followed by Nancy and a nervous bank clerk.

‗Rippling,‘ acknowledged Murray. ‗Obliged you came.‘

‗So ... You have the diamonds from the Princess?‘ Royalty! Royal connections! Bluddschott‘s ears glowed and sovereigns multiplied in his mind‘s eye. Murray tipped the

contents of the bag onto the tea-tray (rather nice Arts and Craft‘s design in beaten copper with raised fish border proba-

bly Newlyn School). Bluddschott‘s jaw dropped and to think he‘d nearly sent the fellow away because of the shabby old coat he was wearing. He‘d said it a thousand times, the truly wealthy never show it.

Needless to say a line of credit was opened immediately and the sale of one of the diamonds to Rippling agreed there

and then with options remaining when a negotiated price of commission and funding/buyers for same could be found. And Bluddschott‘s bank? They found a new client and a safe deposit box stuffed with opportunities. While young Nancy enjoyed milk and cookies and learned a lesson in how the quality did business, with a flourish of pens and stamping of

seals and lots of hand shaking and head bowing. It was all very noble and nobody died this time. There was still that dead man on the beach though.

‗Where to now?‘ she asked as she skipped down the steps of the bank and breathed in clean fresh air blowing off the

sea as keen as a whetted knife. ‗Just this once mind, I am taking you shopping, lassie. You canna be introduced to your new Grandmother in a grubby

smock and a mop cap.‘

‗Pinch me,‘ she said. ‗I might still be dreaming.‘ Ever the gentleman Murray didn‘t pinch but he did look at her hands. ‗Kid gloves until your fingers heal, that‘s the way

of it.‘ Nancy would have been happy with only the gloves from Madam Moredebt‘s Ladies Emporium, but the items of attire

needed by a young lady kept piling up and up until she was dizzy. After an hour and thirty minutes Murray reappeared to

collect her; he was a changed man outfitted and booted off the peg by the bespoke tailor in Smith Street where a sub-stantial order had been placed on their books for running up in a short time. He had even found time to nip into the bar-bershop. Nancy felt shy for the first time in her life as she did a twirl in her new finery for her benefactor. Madam More-

debt watched with interest as the strange pair had their parcels loaded into a hackney cab. The driver tucked them inside, ‗Imperial Hotel,‘ said Murray, who in truth was shaking as much as young Nancy. ‗What‘s next?‘ she asked, and wondering why he was going to the Imperial and not the Nasturtium.

‗Coming back from the dead ...‘ he replied taping the cab roof with the silver-topped sword stick he had somehow also acquired. ‗Drive on, driver. Drive on.‘

Estella does a bunk: Alexander Mulrose had had the same idea as Murray Durrisdane. He too had left the Nasturtium that morning. The

only difference being that Mulrose had paid his bill and left properly as Mr Varanasi and checked into the Imperial as Mr Mulrose.

He did not expect it would take the local police constabulary very long to determine that the body on the beach was a guest of the Nasturtium Hotel and that he hadn‘t died by drowning. It was a gamble that he could get Estella away be-fore the finger was pointed in her direction. He did take one other precaution. He had already purchased a lead lined tea-

-caddy and deposited the idol with the kali stone deep inside. He added a chain and a padlock and placed the key on his watch fob. The tea-caddy was then deposited in the Imperial hotel‘s impressive safe.

‗My sister may be joining me shortly,‘ he told the registration clerk, who smiled discreetly. They had a number of sis-

ters, cousins, nieces of single gentleman who came or didn‘t as the case may be. Estella did see reason by mid-afternoon, and as she didn‘t have a penny piece to her name to pay for the room ...

‘Well has he left you anything? Anything at all beyond a load of debt and a bottle of brandy?‘ sulking and stamping she

agreed to her brother‘s suggestion that she should join him immediately at the Imperial. ‗Pack your bags, there‘s a cab outside waiting.‘

‗I still hate you! You killed Murray!‘ she breathed stale fumes wafting in his face and stumbled.

‗There isn‘t time for this. I keep telling you Murray isn‘t dead!‘ he grumbled dragging her along the corridor by the sleeve while Peter the porter followed behind weighed down by a trunk and bemoaning the loss of his trolley. As he pocketed a very small tip and waved off the cab he sighed as the coin bent between his teeth, especially as then Natasha

Bluddschott grabbed him by the ear: ‗Who was that leaving? Nobody‘s checked out? She done a skip?‘ ‗One left the room, there‘s loads of the bloke‘s stuff still inside. I reckon hers left him for this other bloke.‘ ‗Did they say anything?‘

Peter scratched his head, best keep schtum. ‗No, no a dickie bird.‘ Natasha stamped off to investigate the semi-vacated room for clues. Mr Burke and friend‘s bill was enormous. Where the devil was he?

Peter the porter decided it was not his day, with the new boots running off with young Nancy and leaving him with all the fires to be lit as well as the portering, he‘d be a gonner by the end of the week. And poor Mrs Bertha was beside her-self in the kitchen. She‘d burnt the porridge and served raw kidneys for breakfast, she was so upset Murray had ruined

young Nancy. ‗Ruined. Ruined. How could he! And her a child!‘ Not when he had the opportunity to sport with a woman

of distinction and prospects like her good self. To be rejected for a scullery maid of thirteen years, what was life coming to.

A note is delivered:

Miss Nancy Bucket requests the pleasure of the company of Lady Durrisdane for afternoon tea at 3.00pm this after-

noon in the Grand Ballroom of the Imperial Hotel, as she knows something of the recent history of Murray, Laird of Dur-risdane and has with her a person of interest who is requesting introduction. Please, please come Nancy.

Murray wrote the first part and Nancy added the please please come in her own best round hand, she wasn‘t happy

about calling herself Miss Bucket but Murray explained it wasn‘t a lie, it was a fiction and there was a difference. The note was sent with a three-penny tip to the Imperial Porter who was told he had to wait for a reply. In the meantime Murray booked the Royal Suite of rooms for two nights, which being the most expensive in the hotel was available.

Lady Durrisdane didn‘t disappoint, twenty minutes later she appeared on the steps of the Imperial Hotel with her bon-net in her hand and on the arm of the young messenger who was puffing and blowing almost as much as his generously padded companion. The Imperial was within spitting distance of the Nasturtium but Murray had expected his mother to

take a cab, not skip along a breezy promenade on the arm of a hotel porter again showing how little he knew about the thrift of women.

Sufficient to say the Durrisdane reunion was wet and

windy as well. Poor soul didn‘t know whether to hug her errant son to mush or box his ears for all the worry and trouble he had caused. The relief of not having to travel to

India was almost more than she could take in. Nancy was taken to the fold of her new Grandmother‘s heaving bos-

oms much in the manner of a broody hen who‘d waited too long for a clutch of eggs to hatch and had only one surrogate grandchild arriving safe and sound.

‗I want it all done legal and proper. Call in McFinneon when you get back and have adoption papers drawn up. I shall be naming Nancy heir to Durrisdane.‘

Nancy was suddenly very quiet. ‗Murray. There‘s no need ... it‘s too much,‘ she whis-

pered. ‗I was happy with the gloves. I never really ex-

pected fifty, fifty.‘ ‗See mother.‘ ‗Aye. She‘ll do. Shall we go mad and send for more tea,

child?‘ she beamed patting Nancy‘s newly gloved hand. And if there was a narrator they would here add: thus

the estate of Durrisdane was saved from entailment, the

Laird was restored to the fold as was the line of inheri-tance. Nancy was to go with her Ladyship to the Keep of

Durris there to be instructed in the ways of the gentry by a governess (old lady Phyllis who had been Murray‘s own Nanny). All‘s well that ends well, sort of, there was how-

ever, still the errant Estella to stab a fly in the ointment. And true to form, ever one for the grand entrance, as

all eyes turned to see the commotion, Alexander Mulrose

dragged his still intoxicated sister Estella into the foyer of the Imperial where she deposited her liquid breakfast all over the Minton tiles and the porter‘s shoes.

Murray rushed forward to help Mulrose pick her up from her knees in the straggle of cases and trunk.

‗Murray, at last! Now do you believe me,‘ whispered

Alexander shaking his sister and slapping her face. ‗I told you, your husband wasn‘t dead.‘

A few hours later a note was delivered to the kitchen of the Nasturtium Hotel:

Dear Mrs Bucket. The Lairds of Clan Durris always pay their debts and remember every kindness. I, Lady Durrisdane would pray you would be so kind as to accept this small token of my esteem for saving the life of my son Murray, and for taking care of his young ward Nancy for so many years. It may be of interest to you that Nancy sends her best wishes

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Chase_William_Merritt_Portrait_Of_A_Lady_1890.jpg

and requests that you be informed she is being adopted into family Durrisdane and will be well provided and protected. I remain forever your friend, Lady Durrisdane

PS Murray, the current Laird, says he extends an open ended invitation to stay at the Keep of Durris which you should from this day regard as your home in the Highlands should you ever so wish.

The note included a cheque for one hundred pounds at which point Bertha took faint.

‗You should never have married my sister,‘ accused Mulrose from the bedside. Over by the window Murray Durrisdane stood cold and aloof bowed down by his new clothes and old attitudes.

‗On that we are in agreement,‘ he replied, appalled as Mulrose sank the plunger of the syringe into the bulging vein of

his sister‘s arm. ‗Do you have it?‘ ‗You always were a one trick pony Murray,‘ snarled Mulrose.

‗Do you have it?‘ Mulrose removed the syringe and patted Estella‘s hand, she was already drifting off to sleep. ‗Yes blast you, I have it.‘ ‗What will you do?‘

‗I‘m taking it back.‘ ‗To Varanasi? To the temple ...‘ Murray hardly dared to hope. ‗To the temple of Kali, returning it to where you stole it from, you fool. You could‘ve killed us all and look at Estella.

You‘ve been the ruination of us all Murray. Your weakness for the exotic will be the ruin of you, but this time you get to walk away clean and shiny.‘

Murray didn‘t reply, for a scoundrel, Mulrose, today, had the moral high ground.

‗What about Estella?‘ ‗I‘m taking her home.‘ Mulrose came to the window to join his estranged brother-in-law and stared out to the shoreline

where the police constable‘s wagon had recently been loading Burke‘s body wrapped in a sheet watched by a gaggle of excited urchins from the docks. ‗She‘s from the colonies like me, she won‘t last five minutes in this cold grim place.‘

‗She wouldn‘t like Scotland,‘ agreed Murray remembering the aghast look on his mother‘s face when it was revealed the

dishevelled woman throwing up cheap brandy over the foyer of the Imperial Hotel was apparently married to her prodigal son. ‗Do you want me to ...‘

‗Do the right thing? Well, will you?‘

‗I‘ll have my solicitor send the papers to the Post Office in Bombay, you can sort it from there. She can divorce me for abandonment, I‘ll have a settlement made. She won‘t starve and I won‘t mention her living with Burke off my money for nearly two years or the fact Burke shot me and left me for dead in Calcutta.‘

Mulrose nodded his agreement. Murray left the suite without a backward glance at the spark-out Estella: it felt as if a great weight had been lifted from

his shoulders and as he regained the sun-lounge where his mother and little Nancy were waiting, their faces pained with

worry, he managed a grin which became a chuckle and then a guffaw and everyone was talking at once but then it was a very momentous day for Clan Durrisdane.

Were it not for the Nasturtium‘s Grand Departure Ball, the Durrisdanes would have left that very afternoon but as

Murray wanted to see Nancy‘s little face while being swirled on the dance floor by bold fellows in dazzling uniforms and his mother enjoyed a good band, they decided to depart for Keep Durris on Saturday morning after waving off The Star of

Coldwynd Bay, especially important as Murray needed to check Mulrose kept to his word, which was never a given.

This little space is reserved as a reminder for all those writers who made

resolutions to pick up their pen or turn on their laptops and start writing again. And then didn‘t bother!

Over 5000 RBW readers every week are waiting for your words of

wisdom. Don‘t let them down ...

Submissions welcomed ... How about a regular blog column?

A poem or two ... A short story ... Recipes even ... We love memories ...

Come on, you can do it ...

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