RBW Online

ISSUE 230 Date: 30th March 2012

Words

Exercises

Assign-

ments

Fiction

Projects

Events

Work-

shops

Thoughts

Your

Pages

Poetry

News

Items

or ... careless

Registered with RBW? Then you too can have a go at an

assignment - simply write up to 400 words on the topic of

the week and send it in by email.

Writers write ... it’s what they do!

Issue 230

Page 2

Thoughts & Quotes ... Erich Fromm (23 March 1900 – 18 March 1980) was a German-American

psychologist and humanistic philosopher.

Escape from Freedom (1941)

The successful revolutionary is a statesman, the unsuccessful one a criminal.

The kind of relatedness to the world may be noble or trivial, but even being related to the basest kind of pattern is im-

mensely preferable to being alone. Ch. 1

Man’s biological weakness is the condition of human culture. Ch. 2

Greed is a bottomless pit which exhausts the person in an endless effort to satisfy the need without ever reaching satisfac-

tion. Ch. 4

The successful revolutionary is a statesman, the unsuccessful one a criminal. Ch. 7

Man for Himself (1947) An Inquiry into the Psychology of Ethics

The quest for certainty blocks the search for meaning. Uncertainty is the very condition to impel man to unfold his powers.

Only the person who has faith in himself is able to be faithful to others.

Man is the only animal for whom his own existence is a problem which he has to solve and from which he cannot escape.

Ch. 3 "Human Nature and Character.

The quest for certainty blocks the search for meaning. Uncertainty is the very condition to impel man to unfold his powers.

Ch. 3

Temperament refers to the mode of reaction and is constitutional and not changeable; character is essentially formed by a

person’s experiences, especially of those in early life, and changeable, to some extent, by insights and new kinds of experi-

ences. If a person has a choleric temperament, for instance, his mode of reaction is "quick and strong.” But what he is quick

or strong about depends on his kind of relatedness, his character. If he is a productive, just, loving person he will react

quickly and strongly when he loves, when he is enraged by injustice, and when he is impressed by a new idea. If he is a de-

structive or sadistic character, he will be quick and strong in his destructiveness or in his cruelty. The confusion between

temperament and character has had serious consequences for ethical theory. Preferences with regard to differences in tem-

perament are mere matters of subjective taste. But differences in character are ethically of the most fundamental importance.

Ch. 3

Care and responsibility are constituent elements of love, but without respect for and knowledge of the beloved person, love

deteriorates into domination and possessiveness. Respect is not fear and awe; it denotes, in accordance with the root of the

word (respicere = to look at), the ability to see a person as he is, to be aware of his individuality and uniqueness. To respect

a person is not possible without knowing him; care and responsibilty would be blind if they were not guided by the knowl-

edge of the person's individuality. CH3

The Art of Loving (1956) a similar statement is made :

Respect is not fear and awe; it denotes, in accordance with the root of the word (respicere = to look at), the ability to see a

person as he is, to be aware of his unique individuality. Respect, thus, implies the absence of exploitation. I want the loved

person to grow and unfold for his own sake, and in his own ways, and not for the purpose of serving me.

Man’s main task in life is to give birth to himself, to become what he potentially is. The most important product of his effort

is his own personality. Ch. 4 "Problems of Humanistic Ethics"

Only the person who has faith in himself is able to be faithful to others. Ch. 4

To die is poignantly bitter, but the idea of having to die without having lived is unbearable. Ch. 4

Selfish persons are incapable of loving others, but they are not capable of loving themselves either. Ch. 4

The Sane Society (1955)

Just as love for one individual which excludes the love for others is not love, love for one’s country which is not part of

one’s love for humanity is not love, but idolatrous worship.

Reason is man's instrument for arriving at the truth, intelligence is man's instrument for manipulating the world more suc-

cessfully; the former is essentially human, the latter belongs to the animal part of man.

Source

Wikipedia

Wikiquote

Issue 230

Page 3

LIFE OBSERVATIONS

ASSIGNMENT: Woodland Throne or Careless (400 words)

Random Words: teddy bear/cricket/windmill/doubt/binge/gout/smattering/ Debra/

geisha/close (150 words)

Don’t forget the cryptic clues ... 20 words. (please enclose answer)

To call cold-blooded murder ―honour killing‖ and genocide ―ethnic cleansing‖ is a perversion of

not only the English language, but morals too.

'The fundamental cause of trouble in the world is that the stupid are cocksure while the intelli-

gent are full of doubt.' Bertrand Russell

'My doctor told me to stop having intimate dinners for 4 unless there are 3 other people there.'

Orson Welles

'A man can be called assertive if he launches world war three. A woman can be called assertive

if she puts you on hold.'

A gorse bush on Cannock Chase was covered with dozens of ladybirds, which looked like red

holly berries.

Ladybirds look lovely, but they can nip. Not nice when found cavorting in the washing basket!

And they are attracted to white items pegged out on the washing line.

vociferation n

The act of exclaiming; violent outcry; vehement utterance of the voice.

karst n

(geology) A type of land formation, usually with many caves formed through the dissolving of limestone

by underground drainage. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Karst)

contumelious adj Rudely contemptuous; showing contumely; insolent or disdainful.

judder v To spasm; to shake violently.

mettle n

A quality of endurance and courage. Good temperament and character.

exigent adj

Urgent; needing immediate action.

Demanding; needing great effort.

at loggerheads adj (figuratively) Unable to agree; opposing.

insignia n

A patch or other object that indicates official or military rank, or membership in a group or organization.

A symbol or token of personal power, status, or office, or of an official body of government or jurisdiction.

sedition n

The organized incitement of rebellion or civil disorder against authority or the state.

Insurrection or rebellion.

usher v

To guide people to their seats. To accompany or escort (someone).

(figuratively) To precede; to act as a forerunner or herald.

Issue 230

Page 4

Why, people often wonder, does the British financial year begin in early

April, with the Chancellor of the Exchequer making his annual financial

statement in March? It is all because of the reform of the calendar in

the 18th century.

The ancient Roman calendar had only 355 days in a year, and was thus badly out of sync with

the solar year. So in 46 BC Julius Caesar asked mathematicians to decide on the correct length

of the year, and he then ordered a new calendar from their calculations. The Julian Calendar, as

it came to be known, allowed for 365 and a quarter days in a year, with an extra day was in-

serted every four years to allow for this awkward fraction. Julius Caesar also decreed that each

year should start on January 1st (a day of no solar significance, being several days after the win-

ter solstice). Two extra months were inserted in the summer: with typical Roman modesty, one

was named after himself (July) and the next after his successor, Augustus. (I am sure many peo-

ple have noticed that the later months derive their names from the Latin words for seven, eight,

nine and ten - septem, octo, novem and decem - whereas they are actually now the months

nine to twelve).

The result became known as the Julian calendar, and later became used throughout Christian

Europe, but different countries still started their year on a variety of different dates (as with the

Chinese, Jewish and Hindu New Years now). In England it was traditional for the New Year to be

on March 25th: Lady Day; the feast of the Annunciation, when the Archangel Gabriel appeared

to the Virgin Mary. On this day all taxes and rents were due to be paid. However, by the 16th

century, improved methods of astronomy led mathematicians to realise that the Julian calendar

was slightly incorrect: the true length of the solar year being a few minutes shorter than previ-

ously thought. It only amounted to less than one day per century, but the calendar still needed

reforming.

In 1582 mathematicians working for Pope Gregory XIII produced a new calendar; the Gregorian,

which is still in use today. It took the date forward ten days, to allow for days lost since Caesar's

time, and to deal with the awkward fraction of the day, it decreed there would not be a Leap

Year day three century years out of four. (Therefore there was no leap year day in 1700, 1800

or 1900; there was one in 2000, but there will not be one in 2100, 2200 or 2300 - not that this

will be of any concern to us!) Most of western Europe soon adopted the new calendar, but Eng-

land refused, because it was "Popish" and therefore suspect, and instead stuck to the old cal-

endar and the change of year on March 25th. This has always made it very difficult for histori-

ans when writing about, for instance, the Spanish Armada or the Duke of Marlborough's cam-

paigns: which calendar are we dealing with? the Julian or the Gregorian?

Finally in 1751 Henry Pelham's government pushed through Lord Chesterfield's Calendar Act,

which imposed a New Year on January 1st and also advanced the date eleven days to catch up

with the continent (not ten, because of the unnecessary leap year day in 1700) The days be-

tween September 2nd and 14th in 1752 therefore never existed in England. This caused some

trouble, with rioters shouting "Give us back our eleven days!" The Russians, however, stuck to

the old calendar, which after 1900 was thirteen days out, so that the October Revolution of

1917 actually took place in November. In January 1918 the new Communist government

adopted the Gregorian calendar, though the Russian Orthodox church refused to change, and

so continued to celebrate Christmas thirteen days after the west,

and Easter on a different day entirely.

The last trace of the old calendar in England is still found in the

financial year, which even today begins on March 25th plus those

missing days; which is why we continue to have the Chancellor's an-

nual Budget statement in late March.

Peter G. Shilston

Steph‘s second FREE poetry e-chapbook is now published on

www.issuu.com/risingbrookwriters (profile page)

and on RBW main site and Facebook

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=52

The chapbook is illustrated by some of her original artwork.

She is a member of Stafford Art Group and has exhibited some pieces locally.

CLIVE‘s three free e-books are doing very very well and are

NOW PUBLISHED on RBW and issuu and Facebook

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=52

http://issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

Random words PMW

Carlos Black ran his own business; a hot-dog van, and spent his life cooking sausages, whilst

his wife had a large, iron saucepan of onions perpetually on the go. But on Wednesday, he pur-

sued his great love, amateur dramatics. Not only did he act, but he wrote and produced too.

He had revised several well-known classics, including Shakespeare plays, and had been

known to circumvent the original plot if he thought he could improve on it. It was a mystery to

everyone how he got away with it.

Currently, he was playing Bottom in ―A Midsummer Night‘s Dream‖, and seized his

chance to snog the lovely Lavinia Lucas, who was Titania. In a long, rambling soliloquy, he

spoke of his love for her, and when Trevor Johnson, alas Puck, proffered the magic nectar, she

was totally bewitched, and fell hopelessly in love with the old donkey.

Cryptic clues.

Two animals get a cup for causing a disaster.

Answer. Catastrophe.

Put on an opener for a Christmas and Easter creature.

Answer: - Donkey.

Random words, March 23rd.

In a lush valley, on a grass bank, Alice saw a table set for tea. Sitting round the table were two

characters she recognised, namely the March Hare and the Dormouse.

―Do sit down and join us‖ invited the latter.

―No room, no room!‖ protested Hare.

―Nonsense! There‘s plenty of room‖, Alice responded, pulling up a chair.

―Tea?‖ Dormouse asked, politely.

―Please‖, said Alice, ―But I don‘t see a teapot. And anyway, where‘s the Mad Hatter?‖

―Gone‖, said Hare. ―He pawned the pot. ―We sent him to redeem it. Until we get it back,

tea‘s off the menu‖.

―I fear he‘s getting past it‖, added Dormouse, sympathetically. ―In the twilight of his ca-

reer as a Hatter‖.

―Hm! He needs therapy, more like!‖ excoriated Hare, with a good deal less.

Issue 230

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Dialogue in changing rooms assignment:- SMS

―Nine across, we can‘t live without it, but we all complain

about it ... tough one that our Vera,‖ said Gloria absentmind-

edly scratching behind her ear with her bingo pen and leaving

a smear of blue on her scalp. ―Four letters starts with R ends

in N.‖

―Never mind the crossword, you said you‘d help me with the teas.‖

Gloria looked up and her mouth sort of crinkled at the edges as she acknowl-

edged the truth of her cousin‘s statement. She had agreed to help with the crick-

eter‘s ritual tea but only because she wanted a nose in the newly refurbished pavil-

ion.

―It‘s a lot posher than the last one, isn‘t it?‖ said Vera glancing round the chang-

ing rooms which still reeked of gloss paint as she diligently started setting out the pa-

per plates and unpacking plastic boxes.

―Where did this lot get the money from?‖ asked Gloria stirring her stumps and

waddling over to inspect the contents of a carrier bag. ―They‘re always borassic lint.‖

As she did so there was a cheer from the spectators and around of spasmodic

clapping rippled around the pitch.

―One of ours, or, one of theirs out?‖ asked Vera smoothing

out a tablecloth that looked suspiciously like a bed sheet over

one of the trestle tables.

At the window Gloria pulled a face:―How do I know? How

can you tell when both teams are wearing white?‖

She had a point.

―You didn‘t answer my question, where did the money

come from?‖

―Insurance, after the fire.‖

―Very convenient was that fire,‖ smiled Gloria. ―Very nice now, the old hut was

falling down when I was a kid, how it held together all these years I really don‘t

know.‖

―I remember you and Billy Braithwaite getting caught in here by Old Man Green-

wood, the groundsman,‖ chuckled Vera arranging sardine and tomato sandwiches

into staggering piles. ―Your mam was so cross.‖

Gloria hooted with laughter as she opened a box of cream buns with more vig-

our than was necessary and exploded jam and cream over the tablecloth.

―Big lad was Billy. No wonder he ended up as the goalie for Trentby United. Won-

derful thighs ...‖

Vera nodded in agreement then remembered she wasn‘t

supposed to know any such thing of a personal nature and

changed the subject.

―Too bad he was colour blind.‖

―Too many own goals,‖ agreed Gloria smoothing her piny

and turning on the urn. ―We‘ve got time for a cuppa before

they break for tea, haven‘t we?‖

Vera agreed as she stepped backwards to admire the

Trentby Cricket Club inaugural cricket tea piled high on the

groaning trestle tables. ―Not bad, our Gloria, for a first attempt‖ she said crossing her

fingers and hoping the mackerel paste tasted better than it smelled.

Issue 230

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Announcement ...

RBW are pleased to announce that the result of the vote means that

―Going to the dogs‖ is to be the scenario for the 2012 jointly written

fiction project.

Now is the time to sign up for this project.

Naturally it is a farce set in Trentby.

Two charity shops, Puss in Boots and a dog charity Man‘s Best Friend,

are in rivalry from opposite ends of the High Street.

They each have a mismatched cast of charity volunteers —- and a lost

scarab beetle broach worth millions to add to the mayhem.

The action will take place over five days beginning with the charity collec-

tion van making collections and deliveries to both shops. The driver of

which, a said Mick Grabble, being a dishy ―poster boy‖ for Ragmen and

an object of desire for both manageresses of the rival charity shops— one

a former military type in gumboots and tweeds and the other a retired

dancer in fluffy pink slippers.

If you‘ve ever wondered how we do this, it is not as easy as we make it

look, but, by following a few simple rules everything eventually drops into

place.

Each piece of action has to take place within a few minutes time frame

and be complete within itself. Characters cannot be in two places at

once so it is important to keep abreast of what other contributors are

writing.

The characters are not for the sole use of any one writer. The characters

are for joint usage. This is very hard for some writers to get their heads

round.

If you start a plot line then you have to complete it. You can‘t write one

piece and leave it hanging.

This exercise has a real purpose — it teaches plotting, team work, charac-

ter building. It imposes discipline and the concept of writing to deadlines.

It improves use of dialogue and encourages research. It also is a lot of

fun and there is a real sense of achievement when it is finished.

Issue 230

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Monday 10.00

British Museum, London

The children held hands as they clattered up the stairs to the Egyptian room, but they didn't fool

around like most did. Maxie regarded them with hatred. Striped blazers, ties. Spawn of the grabbers

of this world, heading for careers in banking, law, politics.

All the things that kept the likes of Maxie down.

'Come along please,' said Miss Spur, handing him a box of exhibits. He scowled at her too, but

took it and followed obediently. His mam had told him if he messed up this time he'd be out on his

ear.

They all stopped at the glass case surrounding the usual gruesome dead thing. Max was get-

ting better with the mummies - hadn't had a nightmare for at least a week - but he hadn't seen this

one before. It was gross. Parched eye sockets, no nose, thin lips drawn back over huge yellow teeth.

And the wrappings - some rat had obviously been at those.

'This is Tutemhotepp,' Miss Spur was saying. 'Cousin of Rameses the Great and High Priest of

the Temple of Dumilla. We call him the Bluddschott mummy.'

Bloodshot? thought Maxie. Where's the blood? The thing was made of leather.

The spawn were fascinated. 'Why is it called the bloodshot mummy?' piped up one of them.

'Because it was found by the Earl of Bluddschott,' said Miss Spur. 'Of Trentby Manor in Staf-

fordshire.'

'There should be things buried with it,' demanded another. 'Where are they?'

'Somebody got there first,' explained Miss Spur. A lot of the important things had been stolen.

Look, this is all the Earl could find.'

This was the cue for Maxie to open the display box he was carrying.

The spawn crowded round.

'Where's the Heart Scarab?' asked one of them accusingly. 'It should be over the heart to

ensure entry into the Afterlife. But it's obviously not on the mummy, and if it's not in the box either,

where is it? Snotty little cow, thought Maxie. Does she think I've nicked it?

'It's missing,' said Miss Spur. 'It must have been one of the things stolen. We think it looked

like this. Typical for the status of such a person.' She fished out a picture of something in greens

and blues held together by gold. It had a big orange lump in the middle.

'Is it valuable?' asked the obvious dunce of the class.

'Yes, dear,' said Miss Spur. 'Not the stones themselves, they are semi precious, lapis lazuli,

turquoise and carnelian. But its provenance makes it very valuable. The museum would pay a great

deal to recover that scarab.'

'How much?' said a scrawny one obviously destined for banking. 'a million pounds?'

'Something like that,' said Miss Spur.

A niggling at the back of Maxie's mind finally jumped into clarity. Trentby. He knew it. It was

where his Gran's mad sister lived. She used to come down to see them, bringing presents of hide-

ous knitted cardigans he'd been forced to wear to school. 'You should be grateful,' his mam had

said. 'I am.'

Grateful! As if school wasn't bad enough. 'Maxie!' a kid had scoffed on the first day. 'He

should be called Minnie.' And so it had been, until the day he was officially expelled. Still it had

made him a good fighter in spite of his size. But Trentby. yes that was where she'd hung out.

And still did - they'd had a Christmas card. Where the finder of this lot hung out too. And who

could say it was true, that so much had gone missing before this Bloodschott geezer arrived? Who

was to say he hadn't trousered the rotten scarab himself? Everyone knew aristocrats are mad - mar-

rying cousins and all that. A million pounds? Surely it was worth a trip to visit his old aunt?

Maxie gave no sign that his mind was gathering speed like a plane about to launch. He'd

wear the interview suit him mam bought him, his black shirt, his dog collar made from a slice of

plastic washup bottle, and he'd easily hitch up to Trentby. He'd have to stay with the old biddy, but

he'd have a good look round too. Explore this Manor place. That was where Maxie's expertise lay. If

the scarab was there, Maxie would find it.

What Miss Spur had not mentioned, and what Maxie did not know, was that the Bluddschott

mummy had been donated to the museum nearly eighty years ago and attempts to trace the miss-

ing artefacts, although at first furiously pursued, had long been abandoned.

Issue 230

Page 9

TUESDAY 9.00am Second Collection

Mick‘s white van bumped, rather more slowly that usual, over the uneven driveway to

the rear of the Manor, the wipers failing to make more than a minor impression on the

torrential rain pouring down the wind screen.

―Flaming Hallelujah chorus‖, muttered Mick to himself, then he chuckled as he re-

membered that it was Lady Lucinda who‘d taught him to swear in ‗Proper English‘.

―What was it she told me? ‘There‘s no excuse for vulgarity dear boy. All that shows is a

lack of forethought. One may have a good swear in proper English and not be vulgar.‘

I‘ll miss Lady Lucy; the old dear was a real toff, one of the best.‖

He was lucky, the driveways and garages were empty, which allowed him to pull up

in shelter and get ready to clear the rest of Lady Lucy's things away.

Knowing his way around the house as well as he did, he knew of all the service cor-

ridors, it was easy to get into the rooms recently used by Lady Lucy where all the

'clutter', as the current Lady Bluddschott called it, was being sorted out.

Boxes of shoes, handbags and scarves, bags of underclothes, coats and dresses

were all bundled up and loaded into the van.

―These rooms are to be cleared, I don't care what you do with the stuff, but nothing

is to be left,‖ was the instruction from 'Her Ladyship', as Marge Potts called her. ―I

don't want a single thing left in here when the decorators arrive.‖

Mick noticed that 'Her Ladyship' had walked out of the room with the key to Lady

Lucy's safe and a jewellery box clutched firmly in her hands.

―Hey, Marge! Do you think she means I can have the four poster bed as well?‖ Mick

jokingly asked.

―Don't be daft, Mick,‖ Marge replied. ―That's fastened in place,‖ she chuckled at

the thought, ―and anyway you'd never get in the van!‖

-o0o-

Tuesday Monring: The Solicitor calleth. 11.00am

As he stood under the protection of Bluddschott Manor‘s porch, Thomas Green, the

junior solicitor in the firm, realised that: ―Thomas; you're to handle winding up the es-

tate of the late Lady Lucinda Bluddschott. The probate work will be good experience

for you. Just go up to the Manor and take a quick inventory of her personal effects and

things would you. Shouldn't take you more than a couple of days. If you find anything

of great value, or if you aren't sure of the value of anything, call here and we'll arrange

a special pick-up or whatever. Okay?‖

To which Thomas had answered, ―Yes grandfather,‖ were far from the best in-

structions he'd ever been given and that 'a couple of days' was at least two weeks,

maybe two months, too short. Still, faint heart never won fair fees, as his grandfather,

the head of the family firm, had told him.

He pounded with the doorknocker again. The door creaked open, he thought it

sounded like a sound effect from a horror film, and an elderly woman stuck her head

around it.

―What do you want bangin' on this door like that?‖ She glared as she snapped

at him. ―Don't you know nothin'? Go round the side like all proper callers does, and

whatever it is you're sellin' we don't want none!‖ The door slammed shut and the noise

of the key turning had that sound of finality.

Thomas looked at the door again. The door, which had stood there through four

centuries, two sieges and two world wars and innumerable parties, sneered blankly,

blackly, back and won.

Admitting defeat, Thomas went around to the side until he found a door

marked 'Tradesman‘s Entrance' and knocked on that.

The same face appeared and inquisitorially asked. ―Who are you and what

do you want?‖

―I'm Thomas Green, the solicitor who is handling the probate on the estate

of the late Lady Lucinda,‖ proved to be the magic password. In a warm room, off

the large, freezing cold, kitchen, he accepted the tea and cake offered by, ―Mrs,

Potts, but call me Marge‖, and was introduced to, 'Mick Grabble, the house clear-

ance man,' a handsome, well built, dark haired man in his thirties, who was drink-

ing tea by the gallon and eating cake as if it'd gone out of fashion.

―Nothing much here for you, Mr. Green,‖ Mick informed him. ―Lady Lucy got

rid of the house years ago. She said something about making it into a company of

some sort so that it wouldn't get swallowed up in death duties. There's only a few

old clothes, but they've mainly gone to the charity shops, and some jewellery.‖

―You knew the lady then, Mr. Grabble?‖

―A few years ago, Mr. Green, a few years ago. I suppose, in a way, Lady Lucy

was more a sort of teacher than a toff. She certainly kept my sister and me on the

straight and narrow. She's a sad loss to me, still, must keep to business. Where's

your sidekick then?‖

―Side kick? What do you mean, side kick? I'm afraid I don't follow you, Mr

Grabble.‖

―You don't mean that you've been sent here on your own, do you? You need

someone with an idea of the value of things.‖ He shook his head in sorrow at the

naïvety of the other man. ―Well, things that you can value because they were hers

anyway. Not the house and grounds nor the cars, they're owned by the firm I've

told you about. Dunno about the paintings and furniture, but I'll bet they are as

well. Lady L rarely missed a trick there.‖ He turned and asked, ―Do you know

Marge?‖

―Nothin' to do with me, Mick. I just does like I'm told. Like I'm tellin' you to

get yourself shifted and move all that stuff. 'Her Ladyship' was very particular that

she wanted it all gone by tomorrow. The decorators are coming in then and 'Her

Ladyship' wants those rooms redone. Now move yourself and do it or you'll get no

more tea and cakes from me, my lad!‖

―Okay, Marge, just on me way now‖, Mick replied as he went out of the door.

―Nice to meet you Mr. Green, and if you want any houses cleared or stuff moved

give me a call if you would. Always happy to oblige.‖

Thomas turned to Marg. ―Is there anything left here of Lady Lucinda‘s

effects, Mrs. Potts?‖

―Dunno really. There's some stuff in the safe upstairs I believe. ‗Her Lady-

ship‘ has the key for that, and there's an old jewellery box in Lady Lucy‘s' dressing

room. Lady Lucy had a list done for the insurance some time ago, that's probably

the best thing. ‗Her Ladyship's‘ probably got that.‖

―You don't sound too happy, Mrs. Potts.‖

―I'm not young man! As soon as this is all done and dusted, I'm off out of

here. My old man and me‘s goin' to retire. I'll ask me cousin, Vera, where's the

best place. With her connections she's bound to know that!‖

Issue 230

Page 10

Issue 230

Page 11

Character List PLEASE NOTE THESE NAME SPELLINGS

Robert Bluddschott Earl of Trentby deceased

Lady Angelica Bluddschott deceased wife to Robert — Aunt to Lucy

Dowager Lady Lucinda Bluddschott — recently deceased

Colonel Lionel Bluddschott — nephew to the late Lucinda, Dowager Lady

Bluddschott— recently inheritor of Bluddschott Manor — breeds gundogs

Lady Annabelle Bluddschott wife of Colonel, too fond of G&T, heiress of Sausage Mil-

lionaire Barry Cumberbatch deceased

Marge Potts - cleaning woman at Manor

Mick Grabble - charity collection driver — lives with sister Jean

Puss in Boots Charity Shop

Cynthia Saunders Manageress — pink and fluffy

Volunteers — Timothy Toogood—50s — owns 17 cats — long grey hair tied in a queue

thesis specialism Ancient Egypt, rebellious tendencies

Iris, Dylis and Evadne who knits cats

Dogs Charity Shop — Man‘s Best Friend

Geraldine Vickers Manageress — gumboots and waxed jacket — rides to hounds —

mistress of Lionel Bluddschott

Volunteers— Randolph Andover — Community Service — Internet hacker

Rosemary Thorne - Twins Daphne and Deirdre Drinkworth — knit dogs

Customer

PC Daniel Smithers — built like side of house but enjoys AmDram/Musicals and

dressing up in stage act — always buying costume materials from both shops — very

high pitched voice. Stage Name: Danni la Do on account of large purple wig

Mrs Smithers - Danni‘s long suffering mother

MAXIE - young treasure hunter

Thomas Green - solicitor

House Style

RBW uses Franklin Gothic Book font size 14pt and single spaced Word

files. (NB ... Not Ariel ... Not Times New Roman ... Not 10pt ... Not 12pt)

NO fancy fonts — no tables — no underlining — no centred headings — no

coloured anything.

Names of contributors will appear at the front of the book but not on each

piece.

The copyright will be RBW and the book will hopefully be published as a

free e-book.

Issue 230

Page 12

Daniel ‗La Doo‘ Smithers hummed as he minced his way along Trentby High Street in

his rather high heels. The bell above the door of ‗Man‘s Best Friend‘ charity shop rang

out brightly as he entered. Rose Thorne looked up quickly from the copy of Lolita she

was reading beneath the shop counter, and hastily hid it amongst the many other dog

-eared, but less absorbing titles on the bookshelf behind her. But she made a mental

note of its location, for future reference. There it sat, between ―Fly fishing‖ by J R

Bartley and ―Eating out of Doors‖ by Alf Rescoe.

She was slightly irritated by the interruption, but as he was a good customer, she

greeted him fairly warmly.

―Well hello there, Dan. And to what do we owe this pleasure?‖

―Hm. It may be a pleasure for you, dearie, but frankly speaking, that sort of

thing‘s not my cup of tea at all. Now that nice young Master Andover…well, need I say

more?‖

―I‘m afraid he‘s busy, so you‘ll have to make do with me‖, she added, tartly.

―Ah well‖, Danny sighed, in his high-pitched voice. ―Beggars can‘t be choosers. I

need something abit special for the Players‘ Ball tomorrow night.

―Are you in luck!‖ exclaimed Rose.

―I don‘t know. Am I?‖

―We just had a delivery from Bluddschott Hall. The old Colonel getting shut of the

dowager‘s wardrobe. And she was a snazzy dresser, I can tell you! Oh yes. Some

pretty fancy stuff amongst that lot. And I just finished putting it out on the rail over

there. Why don‘t you take a look?‖

‖Don‘t mind if I do‖, Danny responded, enthusiastically.

He began sifting through the said rack, crammed tight with coat hangers and

various garments, and occasionally took one out for a closer look.

―Wow! There‘s tons of stuff here which might do for the Am Dram group. I‘ll come

back when I‘ve got more time, in a day or two for a closer look.‖

‖Don‘t leave it too long.‖ cautioned Rose. ―Things of that quality don‘t turn up

every day. And so reasonable too! There are sure to be plenty of folk out there who‘ll

give them a good home, especially in times of recession. I mean, just look at some of

those labels! Vivian Eastwood, Coochi, Lada, Dolce and Havana, Georgio Legani; all

the big names. And even vintage stuff by Mary Font and Flanel. Top designers all. And

shoes too, to complement any outfit. I tell you, if it wasn‘t against the shop rules, I

would have had first pick of them.‖

She hoped he wouldn‘t notice the carrier bag with her name scrawled in black

felt tip pen on it, containing the Laura Pashley flower-sprigged dress and the pair of

patent leather shoes bearing the name of Jimmy Clue on the bottom shelf of the

counter.

―Glad I came in now!‖ Danny beamed. ―Was thinking of trying ‗Puss in Boots‘, to

see if they‘d got anything suitable, but…..‖ his voice tailed off

―Oh heavens!‖ Rose interrupted. ―You can‘t be serious! They haven‘t got anything

like this. We‘re in a totally different league from them when it comes to exclusivity and

value! Ours is a much better class of merchandise.‖

―Sorry‖, Danny muttered, sheepishly. ―OK if I try these on?‖

―Be my guest‖. Rose Thorne indicated the changing rooms; Danny took a gener-

ous armful of items and headed in that direction. Whilst his back was turned, she

flipped the carrier bag over, so that the incriminating evidence was not visible.

Danny ‗La Doo‘ reappeared minutes later, and plonked several of them down on the

counter. Amongst them was a very nice sable coat, which, though it had clearly been

in the dowager‘s possession for many years, screamed quality. Little did he know that

Issue 230

Page 13

the right hand pocket had a tiny tear in it, and that consequently, an item of great ar-

chaeological significance and historical value had slipped unnoticed into the lining.

―What‘s the damage?‖ he asked

Mrs Ethel ‗La Doo‘ Smithers poured out a steaming cup of tea and pushed it across

the table towards her son. She was a cheery, homely soul, with a round face and grey-

ing hair, which steadfastly refused to stay in the loose bun she had worn for the past

fifty-odd years, and who doted on her only child.

―How are you today, Doody?‖ she asked him, solicitously.

―Fine, thanks, but oh mummy, I wish you wouldn‘t call me that! I‘m almost forty-

three, after all.‖

―I know that, sweetie. But to me, you‘ll always be my little Doody.‖

―Well, you could do me a favour, if you‘re going into town today. Can you drop off

that old fur coat at the charity shop? I‘ll never wear it again, and can‘t see it being

much use for the gang. (He was referring to his friends in the Amateur Dramatic Soci-

ety.)If it‘s no trouble, that is.‖

―No trouble at all. Consider it done,‖ his loving mater replied.

The bag containing the coat was quite heavy, and the ‗Man‘s Best Friend‘ charity shop

was at the opposite end of Trentby High Street from the bus stop, where Ethel

alighted. She wasn‘t about to lug it round for long. Not with her rheumatics. Much as

she adored Doody. No way! And besides, it was pouring down.

Thus it was that she walked into the ‗Puss in Boots‘ shop, and proffered the un-

wanted item, along with its precious, secret stowaway, to Ms Cynthia Saunders, pro-

prietor of said small business. A large, white Persian cat sat on a cushion on a chair in

the corner, and eyed her sleepily, yawning in a disinterested way.

―My, that‘s a nice coat, Mrs Smithers. Funny, I hadn‘t got you down as a real sa-

ble type; more a faux fur lady, I‘d have said.‖She twiddled her pearls, pointedly.

―No. It‘s not mine. It belongs to our Danny. At least, it did, for forty-eight hours or

so. But he doesn‘t need it anymore, and being the sweetheart that he is, thought

someone else might be glad of it.‖

―I see,‖ said Cynthia, peering at Ethel over the top of her pink spectacles, which

perfectly matched her cerise twinset. Course, it‘s abit out of fashion these days, and

not exactly ‗de rigeur‘ thanks to those animal libbers. Naturally, I love animals as

much as the next man, or should I say, woman?‖ she giggled. ―But really! They go too

far.‖

―Don‘t you want it then?‖ Edith asked brusquely.

―Oh no. I didn‘t mean that. It‘s a good, warm coat for someone without such sen-

sitivities. I‘m sure someone will appreciate it. Those people in the local hostel maybe.

By the way, your Danny is into his Amateur Dramatics, isn‘t he? Perhaps you‘d pass on

a message? We‘ve just had a big delivery from Bluddschott Hall. All Lady Lucinda‘s

stuff. Beautiful, it is. I‘m sure he and his mates could use some of it in their produc-

tions.‖

Issue 230

Page 14

POETRY LIBRARY EVENTS UPDATE

MAHFUZ MIR ALI, ROWYDA AMIN, NICK MAKOHA & SHAZEA QURAISHI Thursday 29 March

Four poets read from their latest work in this special event to celebrate the TEN anthology.

http://ticketing.southbankcentre.co.uk/find/literature-spoken-word/tickets/mahfuz-mir-ali-rowyda-amin-nick-

makoha-and-shazea-quraishi-62311

HUMBLE THE POET Saturday 14 April

Toronto-bred MC and spoken word artist Humble the Poet is joined by young East London producer and lyricist

Naga for a night of poetry and hip hop.

http://ticketing.southbankcentre.co.uk/find/literature-spoken-word/tickets/humble-the-poet-63964

JANE HIRSHFIELD Wednesday 25 April

Jane Hirshfield, one of America's most fascinating poets, reads from her new collection of poetry Come, Thief.

http://ticketing.southbankcentre.co.uk/find/literature-spoken-word/tickets/jane-hirshfield-64561

PAUL DURCAN Monday 30 April

Acclaimed poet Paul Durcan reads from his latest collection Praise in Which I Live and Move and Have My Be-

ing.

http://ticketing.southbankcentre.co.uk/find/literature-spoken-word/tickets/paul-durcan-64579

POETRY OF UNKNOWN WORDS Until Friday 25 May

See five new prints by artists Susan Johanknecht and Katharine Meynell in response to work by Gertrude Stein,

HD, Mary Wollstonecraft, Emmy Hennings and Valerie Solanas.

http://ticketing.southbankcentre.co.uk/find/literature-spoken-word/tickets/poetry-of-unknown-words-1000227

POEM! The Poetry Olympics Enlightenment Marathon Thursday 14 June

Michael Horovitz presents a celebratory marathon night of poetry, performance, music and song featuring Stan

Tracey, Valerie Bloom, John Hegley, Francesca Beard and special guests including Damon Albarn.

http://ticketing.southbankcentre.co.uk/find/literature-spoken-word/tickets/p-o-e-m-2012-65127

By the shores of Gitche Gumee,

By the shining Big-Sea-Water,

Stood the wigwam of Nokomis,

Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis.

Dark behind it rose the forest,

Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees,

Rose the firs with cones upon them;

Bright before it beat the water,

Beat the clear and sunny water,

Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water.

There the wrinkled old Nokomis

Nursed the little Hiawatha,

Rocked him in his linden cradle,

Bedded soft in moss and rushes,

Safely bound with reindeer sinews;

Stilled his fretful wail by saying,

"Hush! the Naked Bear will hear thee!"

Lulled him into slumber, singing,

"Ewa-yea! my little owlet!

Who is this, that lights the wigwam?

With his great eyes lights the wigwam?

Ewa-yea! my little owlet!"

Many things Nokomis taught him

Of the stars that shine in heaven;

Showed him Ishkoodah, the comet,

Ishkoodah, with fiery tresses;

Showed the Death-Dance of the spirits,

Warriors with their plumes and war-

clubs,

Flaring far away to northward

In the frosty nights of Winter;

Showed the broad white road in heaven,

Pathway of the ghosts, the shadows,

Running straight across the heavens,

Crowded with the ghosts, the shadows.

At the door on summer evenings

Sat the little Hiawatha;

Heard the whispering of the pine-trees,

Heard the lapping of the waters,

Sounds of music, words of wonder;

'Minne-wawa!" said the Pine-trees,

Mudway-aushka!" said the water.

EDITOR NOTE: There are times when only a snatch of Long-

fellow will do the trick to restore calm and order to the soul.

POETRY AT THE FILM THEATRE College Rd, Stoke, ST4 2EF

Wednesday, 4th April, 2012, 7pm - 10pm

Jo Bell, Peter Branson and John Lindley, with Roger Elkin, W. Terry Fox, Gill McEvoy,

Andrew Rudd, ‘Trentvale Poet’, Phil Williams, John Williams & Joy Winkler

plus ‘open mic.’ and music from ‘Parish Lantern’ and ‘Roaring Owls’

Drinks available from 7pm and during the interval. Tickets: £4.00

For ticket info, contact: p_branson@sky.com or 01270 883410

or just send a cheque, (pay ‘Poetry at the Film Theatre’), to:

‘Poetry at the Film Theatre’, c/o Peter Branson, ‘Ash House’, 226 Sandbach Rd,

Rode Heath, Nr Alsager, Stoke-on-Trent, ST7 3SB

(Your reserved tickets will be available at the box office from 7pm.)

All ticket proceeds to Cystic Fibrosis

Press Release: POETRY AT THE FILM THEATRE

Poets of well renown from as far afield as Chester and Stafford, will be gathering at the Staffs University Film Theatre,

College Road, S-on-T, on Wednesday 4th April for the biggest poetry and music evening to be held in the Potteries in

recent years. Sponsorship from Jon Moulton of Alchemy means all ticket money from the event will be donated to the

Cystic Fibrosis Society.

Organiser and poet, Peter Branson: The idea came when I was reading a poem I’d written specially for a wedding in

June last year. The bride has cystic fibrosis which made the day all the more special and poignant. I’d been thinking of

organising a poetry event in Stoke and this gave me the big push I needed.

Staffs University and the Film Theatre have been brilliant and all the poets and musicians are performing for free, a

wonderful gesture when many are travelling quite long distances.

Tickets have sold well and with a bit of luck we may fill the place, an achievement for a Wednesday evening poetry

event anywhere. Well done Stoke-on-Trent!

The wedding poem, (see below) won first prize in a prestigious poetry competition and has since been published in

magazines both here and in the United States.

The Boat House London Rowing Club, Putney

This is the season for it, not when fields

are iced iron-rut or frayed brown corduroy

or loud with corn; rather when bells are pitched

to tune with living things, the rising sap,

white blossom, throstle, lark, hormonal rooks.

These days the stallion’s bolted, door distressed -

I’m speaking generally of course – and yet

it’s not died out nor been replaced. Young folk

don’t change that much, still feel the need to pledge

their troth in front of family and friends,

the world to judge. So what of this bright pair

who’ve pulled us here today, twin oars - one boat?

They’ve chosen well I think, each other, this,

the food and drink, the company, the view.

Peter Branson

Issue 230

Page 16

WHAT IS RADIO WILDFIRE? Radio Wildfire is an independent online radio station which blends spoken word, poetry, performance literature, comedy, storytelling, short stories and more with a novel selection of word/music fusion and an eclectic mix of musical styles. www.radiowildfire.com currently broadcasts live 8.00-10.00pm (UK time) on the first Monday of every month. There’s a brand new two hour mix of material in The Loop on Radio Wildfire – Now playing 24/7 a completely new selection of stories, satires, poetry, spoken word, music and interview @ www.radiowildfire.com - another two hours of live literature and chat. In this edition the Loop brings you voice interaction, vocal overdubbing and voice with musical accompani-ment from poets Stephen Mead, Alison Boston, Andrew Barnes, and Zeandrick Oliver & James G. Laws. The Loop brings you songs from David Francis' excellent new album On A Shingle Near Yapton, a memoir with a reading by Jonathan Taylor from his Granta published account of his father's struggle with Parkinson's, Take Me Home. Poetry from Jenny Hope, who celebrates Earth Hour, and from Roy Mcfarlane, together with storytelling from John Edgar. The Loop brings you an interview with Roz Goddard of the West Midlands Readers' Network, also the second part of Mal Dewhirst's series The Lost Poets. Episode 2: Banjo Paterson and a radio play in the form of Keith Large's Where Does He Go On A Wednesday? PLUS: Irons In The Fire: Jan Watts' Laureate's Diary - the monthly diary from Birmingham's Poet Laureate AND there's Gary Longden's Listings, in this month's show Gary looks back at the year and lists some of his favorite events, venues and poets - check it out you might just be featured! So join us and listen by going to www.radiowildfire.com and clicking on The Loop The Loop is edited by Vaughn Reeves and will play online con-tinuously for the next month, except during our live broadcast on Monday 2nd April starting at 8.00pm with a full programme of pre-recorded tracks, live studio guests and conversation.

Issue 230

Page 17

Wolfram von Eschenbach (c. 1170 – c. 1220) a

German knight and poet, who is often regarded as one of

the greatest epic poets of the Middle Ages. A Minnesinger,

he also wrote and performed lyric poetry.

Little is documented of Wolfram's life. There are no histori-

cal documents in which he is described. His works are the

only remaining source of his existence.

In Parzival he writes of wir Beier (Bavarian reference) and

the dialect used is East Franconian. Geographical refer-

ences have resulted in the present-day Wolframs-

Eschenbach, previously Obereschenbach, near Ansbach in

Bavaria, being designated as his official birthplace despite

four other possibilities.

The arms shown in the Manesse manuscript (14th century) drawing on the figure of the Red

Knight in Parzival have no heraldic connection with Wolfram.

Wolfram's works indicate several possible patrons (e.g. Hermann I of Thuringia), which sug-

gests that he served a number of Kings. In Parzival he claims he is illiterate and that the

works were scribed by dictation, this theory is academically

treated with some scepticism.

Wolfram is best known for Parzival, probably based on Chré-

tien de Troyes' Perceval, le Conte du Graal: it is the first ma-

jor Germanic piece on the subject.

However, in the poem, Wolfram states that his source was a

poet from Provence called Kyot. Some academics state they

believe Wolfram meant Guiot de Provins, however others be-

lieve Kyot was simply a literary device invented by Wolfram

which would serve to distance himself from the Chrétien ver-

sion.

Wolfram is the author of two additional works: the unfinished

Willehalm and Titurel of which only fragments remain. These

were both composed after Parzival. Titurel mentions the

death of Hermann I, which dates it after 1217. Wolfram's nine

surviving songs, five of which are dawn-songs, are widely re-

garded as masterpieces of Minnesang.

There are 84 surviving manuscripts of Parzival. Willehalm, has

78 surviving manuscripts. Many are fragmented.

The rediscovery of the poetic works of Wolfram begins with the

publication of a translation of Parzival in 1753 by Swiss

scholar Johann Jakob Bodmer.

Parzival was the source Richard Wagner used when writing the

libretto to the opera, Parsifal. Wolfram‘s persona appears as a

character in the Wagner opera, Tannhäuser.

Source material Wikipedia and other web sites —

no guarantee can be made for absolute accuracy.

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