RBW Online

ISSUE 245 Date: 13th July 2012

Words

Exercises

Assign-

ments

Fiction

Projects

Events

Work-

shops

Thoughts

Your

Pages

Poetry

News

Items

Issue 245

Page 2

Francesco Bracciolini (November 26, 1566 – August 31, 1645)

Francesco Bracciolini (November 26, 1566 – August 31, 1645) was an Italian poet.

Braccioline was born into the nobility in Pistoia in 1566. On moving to Florence he was admitted into the academy

where he devoted himself to literature. At Rome he entered the service of Cardinal Maffeo Barberini, with whom he

later moved to France. After the death of Clement VIII he returned to the area of his birth and when his patron Bar-

berini was elected pope, (Urban VIII), Bracciolini went to Rome and was became secretary to the pope's brother,

Cardinal Antonio Marcello Barberini.

He had also the honour conferred on him of taking a surname from the arms of the Barberini family, which were

bees; whence he was afterwards known by the name of Bracciolini dell Api. During Urban's pontificate the poet

lived at Rome gaining a considerable reputation, though was censored for ‘sordid avarice’.

On the death of the pontiff he returned to Pistoia, where he died in 1645.

Bracciolini’s works included poetry, epic, dramatic, pastoral, lyric or burlesque, but he is principally noted for his

mock-heroic poem Lo Scherno degli Dei published in 1618. Of his serious heroic poems the most celebrated is La

Croce Racquistata.

Lo Scherno degli Dei (published 1618)

(Faceva far cento) castelli in aria. Translation: To make a thousand castles in the air.

Translation reported in Harbottle's Dictionary of quotations French and Italian (1904), p. 259.

(Vuol) far d’ una ciriegia due bocconi.

Translation: He wants to make two mouthfuls of one cherry.

Translation reported in Harbottle's Dictionary of quotations French and Italian (1904), p. 300.

(Che) il leon non combatte con la mosca.

Translation: For never doth the lion fight with flies.

Translation reported in Harbottle's Dictionary of quotations French and Italian (1904), p. 315.

(Deh! come è ver che) subito trovato II bello place a chi

non e malato.

Translation: True ’tis, when unexpectedly we find The beautiful, it charms the healthy mind.

Translation reported in Harbottle's Dictionary of quotations French and Italian (1904), p. 424.

Urban V111 Wikipedia image Source material 1904 and 1911, now in public domain.

LIFE OBSERVATIONS ‗Mind the step‘ means it‘s too late; you‘ve found it.

Random words can cheer up a small girl.

Authors are the spring boards for the next generation‘s thoughts.

You can‘t please everyone. When someone is so truly offensive that it makes you

want to give up and walk away, sometimes you just have to plaster a smile on your

face keep calm and carry on.

When a pigeon, drunk on ripened cherries, flew headlong into the window and

stunned itself, it left a perfect impression of all the feathers in its wing on the glass

like a spread open fan. This could be interpreted that the glass needed cleaning

prior to this event... Such is life.

A rainy day brightened by a cheery wave and a big smile from an old lady in a wheel

chair.

penitent n

Feeling pain or sorrow on account of sins or offenses; repentant; contrite; sincerely

affected by a sense of guilt, and resolved on amendment of life.

Doing penance.

avant-garde n

Any group of people who invent or promote new techniques or concepts, especially in the

arts.

stoically adv

In a manner that endures pain and hardship without outwardly showing suffering or ex-

pressing complaint.

In an unfeeling manner that inwardly is unaffected by pain or distress.

harrow v

To traumatize or disturb; to frighten or torment.

devil-may-care adj

Carefree or recklessly irresponsible.

timbre n

The quality of a sound independent of its pitch and volume.

spuria npl

Spurious things; especially, a counterfeit or forged written work or one of doubtful attri-

bution.

derring-do n

Valiant deeds in desperate times.

Issue 245

Page 3

Clive’s three free e-books NOW PUBLISHED on RBW and

issuu http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/

DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=52

http://issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

Issue 245

Page 4

Steph’s FREE poetry e-chapbook is now published on www.issuu.com/

risingbrookwriters and on RBW main site

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

The chapbook is illustrated by some original artwork. She is a member of Staf-

ford Art Group. Next exhibition: Millbank Gallery, October 2012.

Random words: downstairs, vicar, flood, chocolate-crunch, sun-

shine, airing, moorland, ultimate, olive oil, becoming

Assignment: You are walking through your house and it is com-

pletely different to how you remember it– everything is

changed — no-one is home

Random words CMH

“The long and short of it,” Gwendolyn said to Gillian, her friend since school days, as

they stood at the bus stop. “The long and short of it is that you are happy enough with

ordering things over the telephone but when it comes to actually counting the ban-

dages and stuff you can’t hit the coconut. Am I right?”

Gillian agreed that this: by and large, all things considered, taken all in all, in a ball

court sort of way, quite probably, contained the case in point.

“So! You’re short of sleep over it. Frightened in case you get the sack and not happy.

Well there’s only one thing you can do, isn’t there? Become a politician.

You’d fit right in at Whitehall. They can’t count there either!”

Random words (EH)

Gwendoline was counting the days to the happy event, only one short week until the wedding,

their courtship had been a long drawn out affair, so old fashioned now but then he had been

granny reared and didn't earn much running a coconut shy in the fair. That was how he got

the bad bump on his head from a poorly aimed wooden ball: it had put him into hospital.

Now he couldn't sleep, the bandage was tight, and his ear was itching, they said counting

sheep would help, but all his sheep must have had insomnia by the way they were jumping

round him. He kept hearing that telephone call over and over. The message it contained was

a mystery, 'Meet me at the bus stop at 9o‘clock.' He never went any where by bus, slowly he

drifted into a doze, and his dear Gwenny was with him, he felt the pressure of her fingers and

her gentle kiss.

2012 RBW e-books NOW PUBLISHED on RBW and issuu

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/DynamicPage.aspx?

PageID=52

http://issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

Issue 245

Page 5

Random words

Mrs Jacobs was becoming a flaming nuisance, thought the Vicar of Brindlesea Par-

ish. The moorland stretched out for miles from the stone wall of the graveyard: evil

old biddy, she‘d never be missed. A flood of emotion drowned out his inner voice of

calm. Downstairs in the vestry he could hear her dentures munching away on his

secret stash of chocolate-crunch digestives. It was the ultimate betrayal, so unbe-

coming in a volunteer flower arranger. A glimmer of sunshine glinted on the altar rail

he had been polishing with olive-oil and beeswax. It was a sign. ‗Mrs Jacobs,‘ he

called, ‗come up here and see what I‘ve got in store for you.‘

Assignment:

Blinking away the last vestige of sleep Elly

noticed something strange as her vision

cleared. What had happened to her bed-

room? Since when had the wardrobe been

next to the fireplace, and that wallpaper?

Flowers and birds? Her walls were white

and minimal. Her hand clutched the bed

cover, this was getting silly, embroidered

quilting. Who could have done this? How

long had she been asleep? It was her

room, wasn‘t it?

A toe slid on to bare floor boards, so the

carpet had gone too. The apple tree was in

blossom. Now that was weird, she had

been picking up the windfalls with Joanna

only last week. Elly called out, ‗Jo, what‘s

going on?‘ Now she‘d gone deaf as well.

No sound. Clutching the silken nightdress

around her, her hair flowing loose about

her shoulders she drifted over to the win-

dow. It was spring all right, the cherry trees

were in blossom too. But so many things

were so different: whose was this OTT

nightdress she was wearing? White em-

broidered silk? Where were her pyjamas?

What had happened to the TV mounted above her bed? Hang on where was her

car? Her car ... a shiver ... a feeling of mortal dread.

At that moment some movement in the lane caught her eye. Someone was

coming. A man was walking up the drive his feet crunching on the gravel. Only she

didn‘t have a gravel drive, did she? She didn‘t know him, she didn‘t understand why

he was wearing a bowler hat and carrying a shot gun either, but as the front door

opened her instincts told her one thing very clearly, hiding was a very good idea. As

the thought took hold all that remained by the window in the Old Rectory was a

ghostly impression of that which is yet to come.

Issue 242

Page 6 Issue 245

Page 6

Issue 245

Page 7

Maxie, the treasure hunter as he liked to think of himself; the police had another

term that wasn‘t quite as pleasant. But thought as Maxie, as he lay in his bed at

his great Aunt Evadne‘s rather tatty bungalow on the outskirts of Trentby, but there

again me and the Plod don‟t seem to get along all that well. I wonder why? I‟ve

never done anything illegal; well, nothing that they could prove anyway.

Through the thin walls came the sounds of tins being opened and pans rattled.

Brekky? Already? It‟s not seven-o‟clock for heaven‟s sake. Still I suppose these

country folk have to get up early, don‟t they? Must be something in the blood I sup-

pose. Hope I don‟t catch it.

‗Maxie, it‘s time for you to get up and dressed and washed if you‘re going to start

that research thing you talked about last night. I‘ve got your kippers cooking nicely

so you‘ve got about fifteen minutes,‘ said the voice of, ‗Seeing as how you‘re fam-

ily, you can call me Eva‘, from the kitchen.

Washing was one of those things Maxie did on high days and holidays, or when

he couldn‘t avoid it, but he supposed that it would be a good idea; just this once.

‗Okay, Eva, Be right out,‘ he answered.

Now kippers and Maxie had never crossed paths before, however, he found that

he quite liked them, once he‘d got used to the idea of using a knife and fork to eat

breakfast instead of scarfing down a handful of cereals and a mouthful of beer.

‗What‘s your plans for today?‘ Evadne wanted to know. ‗If you‘re researching that

scarab thing, like you said last night, then your best place to start is probably the

public library. I know they‘ve got all the Bluddschott papers ‗cos there was an exhi-

bition there last year celebrating the purchase for the County Archive.‘

‗All of them Eva?‘ Maxie said putting on his best ‗bright researcher‘ voice. ‗I mean

there must have been quite a lot of them.‘

‗Cost them a hundred and sixty thousand quid at auction, that I do know.‘

‗A hundred and sixty thousand!‘ Maxie‘s voice screeched a bit at the sum. He‘d

never thought that pieces of paper could be worth so much money.

‗Yer. Cheap at the price too, they reckoned.‘ Came around the production of the

stubbing out of a nub end and the lighting of another fag. ‗The archive people say

that it‘s a complete record from fourteen something or other; right up to nineteen

fifty.‘

Maxie was dumb struck; there‘d be TONS of stuff to read and he wasn‘t fond of

reading, not very good at it either he admitted to himself. Reading wasn‘t what

treasure hunters did in the books he‘d, sort of, ‗liberated‘ from his local library

back home. He did intend to return them; one day, so it was only borrowing, wasn‘t

it?

‗Now, the place to really start and get some clues about what could have hap-

pened. It stands to reason they wouldn‘t write down what they‘d nicked it from the

Egyptians, would they?‘ Evadne was now in full flow. ‗No way they‘d write that

down; no, the best idea is to talk to the old folks down at the centre. There‘s nowt

that they don‘t know about that lot up at the hall, I‘ll bet.‘ A quick slurp of her tea

to moisten her tonsils and a deep drag on her fag started Evadne off again.

‗And, Maxie, don‘t wear that stupid vicar‘s collar thing. I know you ain‘t no vicar. If

you was your gran would have been crowin‘ about it for years and she ain‘t said a

dickey bird. I don‘t know what you‘re up to, and don‘t want to know neither, but

clean shaven and smelling sweetly is the way to go. Got it!‘

Maxie nodded. He could tell that the voice of experience was talking here. Maybe

Mad Great Aunt Evadne wasn‘t as mad as the family thought.

Saturday teatime

‗Mrs Andover, is that your Randolph?‘

Mrs A dropped the pair of purple-spotted, outsized ladies frilly things she was

considering buying and hastened to the vertical blinds being held ajar by her

neighbour Mrs Mountjoy. She blinked in disbelief. What was that daft son of hers

up to now?

On the patio was Randolph balancing on the garden seat holding the shade

for the garden table and chairs up above his head like a giant umbrella as if trying

to shade the conservatory roof from some invisible rain.

‗Randolph, get down off there, immediately,‘ she shouted. Of course,

Randolph had his musical ears on and couldn‘t hear a word she was saying, as

his brain cells were being bombarded by a Danish Mr-Angry-Person with very loud

drums and bass on full throttle.

Unfortunately, when Mrs A got her dander up, she usually took action. How

could the chump show her up in this unseemly fashion? Acting like a right idiot in

front of the ladies from the WI as they rooted through Mrs Mountjoy‘s steamy un-

mentionables being so nicely modelled by Sharlene: such a nice girl despite ap-

pearances to the contrary, and such a nice little baker, hadn‘t she made all the

fondant fancies?

Only as the conservatory doors were thrown open with the violence only a

cross mum can wield, Randolph realised he had been spotted trying to shield the

see-through-glass conservatory roof from Barry‘s telescopic sight. At which point

he lost his footing on the rickety garden seat as a chuckling gust of wind caught

hold of the garden brolly and tugged him towards the ornamental goldfish pond.

Randolph hadn‘t the sense to let go of the brolly. The Splash! that followed was

inevitable.

However, the gods do smile on those in the throes of first love, and

as Randolph sat in the pond he was rewarded by the sight of his beloved

Princess standing framed in the conservatory doorway wearing the frilly-

ist fuchsia nighty in the history of the known world. As stinking pond wa-

ter slime embedded into his Mext boxers, Vi-Le 601s and best Muke

trainers Randolph was transfixed by the twirl of pink feathers as Shar-

lene was pulled inside by her mam.

It was then, Randolph realised, that he wasn‘t alone in the delicious

unveiling of the charms of the girl of his dreams, as a glint of sunlight

caught the lens of Barry‘s hidden attic telescope and twinkled. There

really is no such thing as a victimless crime, is there? thought Randolph.

Growing up a little, Randolph came to an uncomfortable conclusion. He

shouldn‘t be helping Barry. He should be closing Barry down, or channel-

ling his creativity elsewhere, preferably through a route equally profit-

able.

It was at this point that Mrs Andover striding over the wreckage of her patio

and garden pond prodded him with the line prop, ‗You great dollop. You‘re just as

useless as your father,‘ letting him know in no uncertain terms what an idiot she

thought her son had turned out to be.

Dripping in confusion, as he rescued the outsized umbrella from off the ga-

rage roof, Randolph considered the insult, his mam must be cross if she men-

tioned the ‗f‘ word. The spectre of his missing dad was never mentioned.

© G

uopen

g |

Sto

ck F

ree

Images

& D

ream

stim

e S

tock

Photo

s

Issue 245

Page 9

‗The Bluddschotts you say? What about them?‘ came from 'Thin Woman' sitting

across the table from Maxie at the Centre coffee morning get together. ‗They were

a funny lot to be sure. Lord Bluddschott, the old one not the new one, that new

one's neither use nor ornament, and he's skint as well. No, Robert was the old

one, he was an archaeologist, when he was alive of course, and he was a good

bloke, even though he had some funny idea's. What do you want to know about

them?‘

Maxie explained, again, that he worked for the British Museum and was doing

some research into the whereabouts of the Bluddschott scarab. It's not exactly a

lie. I do work for the British Museum, he told himself, just not one of the research

bits.

‗Ha, you'd have to ask Reggie about that. Not much chance of getting a word out

of him, of course.‘ That brought a titter out of the others around the table.

‗I suppose,‘ said another, a man that Maxie had pegged as ‗Baldy-locks‘ and ei-

ther an ex-teacher or Bank manager, ‗that you could be referring to the late Lady

Lucinda and her scarab. Or, to be precise, the scarab that she was supposed to

have had in her early years, I suppose.‘

Maxie was all ears as Baldy-locks continued. ‗I believe it was in the late nineteen

thirties when it, ah-hem, came into her possession, as you might say. However, it's

not been seen in the last, oh, twenty or so years to my knowledge. Of course, if it is

found, it would be a part of the late Lady Lucinda's estate and the property of the

Bluddschott family. According to Tim Toogood, no doubt you'll be meeting him in

the course of your research, it's not worth a lot, a few thousand at most. Tim, when

he puts his Doctor Toogood the Egyptologist hat on, says that it could be a fake

and only worth a few pence.‘

Maxie felt sat on. ‗A few pence?‘ he queried. ‗The Museum are prepared to pay

up to twenty thousand for it, that I do know. The provenance alone puts it into that

bracket.‘ Maxie, via Ms. Spur, knew a lot about provenance. About how the right

article, with the right kind of supporting paperwork could be worth a hundred

times the price of one without, even if they were the same things.

Maxie thought it was plain stone bonkers, but, knew that that was the way it

worked.

‗That's another thing I came to have a look into.‘ Maxie had thought it out over

the last few hours, just in case it went all pear shaped all over him. For once he

had an escape plan in place. ‗We, the Museum that is, have some of the docu-

ments on the various digs but probably not all of them, at least that's what my

boss thinks. I've got to do some reading in the Bluddschott papers,‘ Maxie had

found he could 'do the academic waffle' with something like authority.

‗Please could you help me? Does anyone have any idea of which time span I

should be looking at? I could trawl from the 1850s to the 1950s as start and fin-

ish points, however, as the archive has only been partially indexed, that will take

me more time than I can really afford. It's only a small grant you see and, although

I'm currently living with my Great Aunt Evadne, to eke it out you understand, I'm se-

verely limited as to a time scale. Any help would be gratefully accepted and will be

acknowledged in the publication I'm going to produce.‘

‗You're living in the same house as Smoking Mad Evadne? You'll come out fully

kippered young man. She smokes far too much does Evadne.‘

Fluffy Cardigan from two around the table offered. ‗Stay outdoors as much as you

can is my advice.‘ That advice got approving nods from around the table.

Thin Woman chipped in with, ‗I should say you should concentrate on the period

1920 to 1942. That was the time when the area was, relatively free of wars and

upsets for archaeologists to work in that part of the world. Naturally you will need to look care-

fully at any Firman you may find, as that will give you where they dug, and may give you the

names of any other European participants.‘

‗Thank you, I'll do that,‘ Maxie replied; while he made a mental note, What the devil's a fir-

man when it's out.

‗You're new at this modern history external research thing, aren't you?‘ Thin Woman stated.

‗You're starting the right way though. Keep it up young man and I can see you having a good ca-

reer in front of you.‘

Maxie had never been told he was GOOD at anything and didn't know how to respond. ‗Er-

mm, Ta,‘ he started, and then recovered. ‗Thank you very much, madam. I certainly hope so.‘

Thin Woman smiled at him and lost thirty years in the action, Maxie could, vaguely, see that,

once, she had been a startlingly good-looking woman.

‗Then 1920 to 1942 it shall be,‘ he declared as he stood and thanked the people at the table

paying particular attention to Thin Woman. She may be someone he could use in future.

The 'Reading Room' at the local archive was warm, pleasant and bright with comfortable

chairs and desks, a far cry from Maxie's expectation of dark, drear and dim. It was more like

the reading room at the British Museum than anything he'd expected. His reader‘s room card,

issued when he got the job as part of the stuff he'd been given, and hadn't bothered to read,

got him a local card without any problem.

The files, one file at a time, were delivered to his desk. For the next three hours he spent

more time reading than ever before in his life.

Then, bingo, he found his first reference to, 'a scarab blue and gold, soapstone, as type V but

with an unusual inscription', and a sketch of the item.

Got you! All I have to do is to find you, he said to himself. A photocopy of the page cost him

fifty pence. Then he left to become, A Real Treasure Hunter.

Maxie part 3

To the amazement of Marge Potts and the dismay of The Countess of Trentby, the next day

Maximilian Crest, a researcher from the British Museum, presented himself at the side en-

trance of Bluddschott Hall.

Maxie was very pleased with the credentials he'd fabricated for himself. The British Museum

paper was authentic, he'd 'allowed a few sheets' to fall into his work bag one evening, and his

imitation of the signature was pretty good; even if he did say so for himself.

'The Bluddschott Mummy, yes I know about that,‘ The Countess said. ‗But, I'm sorry to have

to tell you, that this scarab you're looking for is something that went missing a few years ago.

It's such a pity as we could do with the money it would fetch at auction. By the time the death

duties are paid the estate is basically bankrupt you see, Mr. Crest.‘

Maxie pressed her to talk about it and showed her the photocopy he had of the site report.

‗That's the one, Mr. Crest. My husband‘s Aunt Lucinda kept it in her jewellery box for some

time, however, when she passed away we couldn't find any trace of it.‘ There was more than a

trace of bitterness in her voice as she continued.

‗For that matter we couldn't find a lot of things that we have evidence for. Gold coins that are

missing, only 200 out of 423 that were inventoried previously have been found. That scarab,

some rubies and emeralds in various settings, possibly a few diamonds, that kind of thing. You

know the sort of thing I mean.‘ Owing to some very specialised, not illegal but definitely un-

usual, training Maxie knew exactly what she meant.

Rubies, emeralds and diamonds were all expensive, saleable if you knew the right peo-

ple, glittery rocks to him and here was this old trout acting as if they were nothing but an as-

sortment of kids plastic building blocks.

‗I hope you have the rest of the bequest securely under lock and key, Your Lady-

ship?,‘ Maxie asked.

‗No problem there, Mr. Crest. Would you like to see them, there may be a clue of

some sort that will help you in your research.‘

Maxie expressed pleasure in the idea and was taken into a small room where

the jewellery was laid out on a table. ‗This was Lady Lucinda's dressing room,‘ the

Countess explained. ‗Even if the house weren't effectively a castle there are only

the two small windows and a strong lock on the door you see. No chance of them

being stolen from here.‘

Maxie took one look at the lock and almost burst out laughing. Strong lock? You

got to be joking Countess, he said to himself, 'I could open that thing with a nail

file in ten seconds and as for this being a castle! I could be up on the roof and in-

side in two minutes; if I was that way inclined. The only thing that's stopping me is

fencing the stuff.

„Just as a matter of interest, Your Ladyship,‘ Maxie couldn‘t help asking, ‗what is

the appraised value of these in the estate?‘

‗We're awaiting the official figures at present, Mr Crest, but, I understand that

it's about £200,000 in total. However, there is a problem with the actual owner-

ship of some of the better pieces. Some may be owned by a firm that Lady Lucinda

set up to give her some cash for repairs. A complex legal thing you understand. I'm

afraid I don't know the ins and outs of it; that's what lawyers are for isn't it?‘

Maxie thought that lawyers were there to keep you out of the nick and do things

about selling houses, but he nodded anyway. ‗Tricky stuff, the law,‘ he agreed as

they left the room.

Margie Potts, however, had heard about him on the grapevine; she collared him as

he left. ‗There's nothing quicker than the old biddy's network,‘ she'd told him. ‗That

scarab, Mr. Crest, the last I saw of it anyway, was on a coat that went to one of the

charity shops. It's probably been sold on by now. No luck there I‘m afraid. Ohh and

give your Aunt Evadne my regards will you; and tell her she's still the Bess from

Slaughter-house Yard that I went to school with.‘

This was another side of Evadne that Maxie knew nothing about.

Marge went on, ‗It's far quicker to go down the drive and out through the front

gate; as long as you keep away from the lake that is. Reggie's on the prowl at this

time of day but you'll be safe enough on the drive.‘

‗Reggie? I've heard about this Reggie. What's the problem.‘

‗Nothing really. But a full sized crocodile can run fast for about twenty yards or

so. Just as long as you don't go down to the lakeside you'll be as safe as houses.‘

‗A crocodile? You're having me on!‘

‗Suit yourself, lad. But don't say you ain't been told,‘ Marge said as she closed

the door behind him.

Maxie didn't believe that Reggie existed, that was okay with Reggie as he viewed

Maxie as a walking meal as he lay in wait in the shallows.

‗Just an old log that looks a bit like a croc. No problem there, but what an idea to

put about. Better than a guard dog any day.‘ Maxie marvelled as he jumped down

the slight bank to stand on the shoreline by the boat house. He noticed the temple

folly on the island. If he wanted to hide a cache of illicit gems he knew exactly

where he‘d have hidden them.

There was a brief flurry of activity that saw Maxie, easily, breaking the standing

high jump, long jump and 100 yards sprint records as he hurtled towards the gate

yelling blue murder.

Reggie gave up the chase after a few yards and waddled, grunting with disappointment, back

to his interrupted nap. It looked like a fish dinner again.

Safely back at the house Maxie told Evadne about his narrow escape, hardly dramatising it at

all.

‗Serves you right,‘ Evadne said, as she lit up another cigarette from the stub end of the one

she was busy inhaling. ‗Have a fag. It‘ll calm your nerves.‘

Jean found she quite liked kissing Thomas, so, after a short pause to catch her breath, she

said. ‗You know, Thomas, I could quite get to like this being engaged business. It sort of nice,

safe, and exciting at the same time. Definitely a more-ish sort of thing, something that we need

to practice though. We should practice; a lot!‘

So saying she moulded herself to Thomas and proceeded to practice. If Thomas objected to

the idea he kept it firmly to himself as, seemingly enthusiastically, he joined in the practice ses-

sion.

‗Sweetheart, we need to get a move on if you're to meet my family in half an hour,‘ Thomas

said some little while later. Jean pushed Thomas gently away and towards his car saying,

‗Come on slow coach, it's about time we were moving. Let's get the show on the road!‘

After arrival at the Green's house Jean was introduced to Thomas's family by Tom saying.

‗This is my fiancée, Miss Jean Grabble BA, a partner and the Chief Accountant in Grabble and

Sons (Recycling) Ltd.‘ He then took her around the room introducing her to everybody.

‗Jean, these are my sisters Megan, usually called Meg, and Barbara, usually called Babs.‘

They both waved and said ‗Hi Jean.‘

Thomas continued, ‗My mother,‘ Jean shook hands with Mrs. Green

‗My Father,‘ Jean shook hands again.

‗And my Grandfather,‘ another handshake, grandfather had a twinkle in his eye and a smile

on his face.

‗We've met before, Miss Grabble,‘ he said. ‗You won't remember it, of course, you were far

too young to remember anything.‘

Jean was taken somewhat aback, and then asked, ‗When would that be, Mr. Green?‘

‗At your Baptism. Let's see, properly, it's Jeanette, then it's Elspeth, after your grandmother,

and Mary, after your other grandmother, if my memory is correct. I was in the RAF with your

Grandfather William at one time and he invited me to the service. I'm afraid we got rather

drunk in celebration together that night. That was, ohh, let me see... about 20 years ago.‘

He turned to Thomas. ‗Tom you've got a good lass here, one I'd be very proud to welcome into

the family, if she'll have you that is. Look after her, she's a gem.‘

Picking up a glass from a side table, he raised it to Jean and said. ‗I propose a toast to Jean

Elspeth Mary and Thomas. May they have every happiness for many years.‘

There was a chorus of approval and a whisper when Tom hugged her. ‗You're in his good

books, my darling Jean. He's never done anything like that before! I wonder what the story be-

hind it is?‘

Jean didn't have a clue either.

Dinner was an occasion for light banter, laughter, and good food. True to Thomas's predic-

tion, Babs and Meg did get Jean to one side for a brief girly session and came away giggling.

‘When will you marry me, Jean?‘ Tom asked. ‗We can have the wedding any time you like af-

ter midnight. I went out and got a special license when we got engaged and I‘m sure I can get

somebody to conduct the service at short notice.‘

Jean turned away and opened the house door, then turned and gave him a thoughtful kiss.

‗Soon, very soon, she replied. ‗What you mean, Tom, is that you can get somebody to conduct

the ritual at short notice. Make that, ohh, the day after tomorrow for the ceremony. But, our real

and actual wedding is going to be tonight; in the next hour, and I want a lo-o-ong, slo-ow and ut-

Publicity Release:

Debut Dagger 2012 Competition:

22nd October 2011 – 21st January 2012

Bulletin No. 8 – The Winner

We are pleased to announce that the winner of the 2012 Debut Dagger is Sandy Gingras for Beached.

Lola Polenta’s life is in free fall. Her marriage is on the rocks, she’s getting all the crappy jobs in her new career, her

home is sinking into a swamp, and she’s just screwed up her first date with the sexy Detective Johansen. She thinks

life can’t get any worse…..then she finds a severed arm.

The judges praised the fast pace, combined with a great voice and central character, in Sandy’s novel.

The judges also felt the field was strong enough for them to select a Highly Commended Entry. In fact, they

were unable to decide between two stories, so for the first time we have a tie for the Highly Commended

story, viz:

Broken-winged Bird by Renata Hill

In the New York of speakeasies, jazz bars, prohibition, and racial segregation, reporter Kate Marsden must decide

whether to publish the biggest story of her career - or find the killer of her friend.

The judges loved the wonderful atmosphere and cinematic quality of Renata’s writing.

The Watchers by Karen Catalona

When Grace Connelly’s adoptive father is killed, the last thing he does is make her promise never to look for her

biological parents. Needless to say, Grace does just that – and discovering the terrifying secret behind her birth puts

her in more danger than she could ever imagine.

The judges liked Karen’s confident and pacy writing and felt the plot had the potential for real tension

This is the last year I shall be running the Debut Dagger (if you’re planning to enter next year, don’t panic,

someone else will be taking over). I’d like to take the opportunity to thank those authors who have so gen-

erously given their time to contribute to these bulletins over the past four years, viz:

Alex Gray, Louise Penny, Meg Gardiner, Barbara Nadel, Colin Cotterill, Lindsey Davis, Cath Staincliffe, Peter

James, Shamini Flint, Anthea Fraser, Sheila Quigley, David Jackson, R S Downie, Karen Maitland, Michael

Stanley, Catherine Sampson, Adrian Magson, Christopher Fowler, Roz Southey, Andrew Taylor, Simon

Levack, Edward Wright, Ruth Dugdall, Alan Bradley, Kate Ellis, Pauline Rowson, Zoë Sharp, Robert Goddard,

L.A. Larkin, L J Sellers, Rod Rees, Sophie Mckenzie, Michael Ridpath, Laura Wilson.

I really hope you didn’t just read the advice from these authors but took the time to read some of the won-

derful books they’ve produced as well. It’s been fun but – that’s all folks. Liz Evans

For more information about the competition, visit www.thecwa.co.uk/daggers/debut/ Previous bulletins: Don't forget that you can find the previous bulletins at: u.thecwa.co.uk/?bulletin

terly delightful wedding, Thomas. If it doesn‘t take until at least dawn to ―get properly

married”, say two or three times.‖

So saying she pulled him through the door slamming it behind her.

The next morning, freshly showered and dressed only in bathrobes, they picked up

the trail of discarded clothing in the hallway, had a cup of coffee and went and “got

married” again.

Grand parents are now childminding and taking on the role of teaching their grand children more

and more. Many have realised that boys are less likely to enjoy reading than girls. Research is

showing that a great many boys struggle with reading and writing at school and boys are more

likely to say they don‘t spend any time reading once away from the classroom.

There are things grand parents can do to encourage boys to enjoy books.

1. Activity is wicked

Every grandma knows boys thrive on rushing about. Incorporate action and adventure into reading

time. Get grandsons to ―act out‖ what they have read. Suggest they pretend to be characters,

heroes and villains, choose exciting books with lots of pictures. After reading a book, get them to

paint or draw the characters.

2. Male role models

Male role models doing the ―reading‖ thing are really important.

Fathers, grandfathers and older brothers can all play a part by letting boys see themselves read-

ing. Newspapers, books, comics, magazines; it doesn‘t matter what it is, men can read them. In

this way boys learn reading is a manly activity: it isn‘t being a cissy or a nerd to read! In copying

adult male behaviour boys gain confidence: the value of reading is an important life-skill.

3. Think outside the box: there‘s more to reading than books

Reading is reading. Magazines and comics with lots of pictures are a great way to encourage boys

to read. Boys tend to be visual learners. Try visiting www.comicmaster.org.uk

Reading is a life-skill: words are everywhere: advertising slogans road signs, posters, television

guides and even shopping lists are useful to get boys reading.

4. Give lots of praise

Boys thrive on praise. Boys love getting attention for positive behaviours! Give encouragement

and be specific about praise. Make it clear that any mistakes in reading are not a failure – that‘s

just the way everyone learns.

5. Hook them with sport

Hobbies and sports are a good way in to unlocking reading, any activity your grandson likes, will

surely have a relevant fiction or non-fictional books associated with it. Soldiers, nature, aero-

planes, pirates or motorbikes will all be covered in your local library. Go to the library together to

find books on the subject. Many boys enjoy football and there are a great many football related

books just waiting to be swallowed whole by eager fingers. Remember it‘s what they want to read

not what you are interested in. Be prepared for hours of sport, be positive, you might actually learn

the offside rule!

6. Repetition and practice: reading time every day

Children benefit from structure: have a regular time to listen to them reading. Use picture books,

ask them to point out things in the pictures. Don‘t stop reading with boys once they can read

themselves. Boys tend to switch off from the concept of ‗pleasure‘ reading once they have the ba-

sic skills to string words together. Keep them interested. Talk about plots, ask questions about

favourite stories find out who their favourite characters are in PC games or TV shows and find re-

lated spin off stories for them to read.

7. Variety ... Not what you liked as a kid ... Find out what they like nowadays ...

Encourage boys to try out a variety of books. Adventure, heroic tales and science-fiction are usu-

ally popular, as are fact-based books. It doesn‘t matter if boys aren‘t turned on to fiction, if they

stick their noses into encyclopaedias, books of lists, anything, they will be reading and enjoying

reading without even realising they are practicing a really valuable life-skill.

LASTLY ... Make sure your grandchildren do not live in a home where the only book available for

them to read is the Argos Catalogue. Give Them a Book regularly and get them to read it with you

and to you. Be proactive. Being able to read well is one of the great communication skills on which

future learning is based.

http://www.wordsforlife.org.uk/ .... This site has lots of really good suggestions.

Issue 245

Page 15

Issue 245

Page 16

Edith Holland

Washing and Ironing (Part One)

I loaded the machine and switched it on to thirty, The labels said it was okay, the washing wasn't dirty. Outside on the whirling line, the sun and breeze soon dried it, I put the basket out of sight, did my best to hide it.

(Part Two)

It still sat there in a menacing heap, daring me to touch it, To make a start, to sort it out, I tried hard to ignore it. Each time I passed the spare-room door, the pile got more untidy, Where did it come from every day? I'll not go in till Friday.

I'll shut the door, be in control, go downstairs for a cuppa, I've better things to do than that, make a shepherd's pie for supper. RBW ECLECTIC MIX POETRY COLLECTION

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-18703602

Eric Sykes, CBE (4 May 1923 – 4 July 2012) was an English radio, television and film writer, actor and director whose per-

forming career spanned more than 50 years. Oldham born, the well-loved and

respected comedian, Eric Sykes CBE has died recently at the age of 89 years.

The above link is to the BBC obituary which strangely seems to omit his role in

the recent Harry Potter film — Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (2005) —

where he played Frank Bryce the caretaker killed by the pet snake of arch vil-

lain Lord Voldermort.

Despite being profoundly deaf since his 30s and enduring failing sight in later

life Eric‘s comic genius had delighted 1960s TV audiences of over 20 million

and some of his works, particularly, The Plank 1967, were widely acclaimed.

The Plank was remade in 1979.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eric_Sykes

Wikipedia (link above) has more information on Eric‘s extensive career includ-

ing his performances in Mervyn Peake‘s Gormenghast and The Others with

Nicole Kidman.

"Dashing Away with the Smoothing Iron"

is a traditional English folk song written in

the 19th century about a housewife carry-

ing out the time consuming work con-

nected with the laundering of household

linen.

In 1953, the melody was adapted by Donald

Swann for the comedy song "The Gasman

Cometh".

Dashing Away with its simple progressive verses

for every day of the week was still being sung in

primary schools in the 1950s when many tradi-

tional families (without automatic washing ma-

chines and some still using mangles and dolly

tubs) were still having Monday as the wash-day

of the week.

It is said, in 1973 the tune was used by com-

poser John Rutter for the fourth movement of

his Suite for Strings under the title "Dashing

Away".

Lyrics

'Twas on a ( Monday | Tuesday | Wednesday | Thursday | Friday | Saturday | Sunday )

morning

When I beheld my darling

She looked so neat and charming

In every high degree

She looked so neat and nimble, O

[ A-washing | A-hanging | A-starching | A-ironing | A-folding | A-airing | A-wearing ] of her

linen, O

Corus

Dashing away with the smoothing iron

Dashing away with the smoothing iron

She stole my heart away.

Smoothing irons, often used in tandem, would be placed on a range to

warm before being applied to the cloth. Women would spit on the iron

plate to test the temperature wasn‘t too hot to scorch the damp mate-

rial. Cotton was notoriously difficult to decrease and often a corn

starch liquid was used to stiffen the material.

©Gynane stockfreeimages

©Sylada stockfree images

If you are a subscribing email recipient to leave RBW Online is easy just email and say ‘unsubscribe’ and you will be immediately removed from the list. If you have any suggestions for improvement to this service please let us know. You don't have to take an active part to receive this workshop bulletin you can just sit back and enjoy the ride, but if you could send back KUDOS feedback it is greatly appreciated. RBW Privacy Promise: A few simple contact details are all that are required and they will only be used for this bulletin service. RBW promise to:

Only send you details via the newsletter.

To never pass on your details to anyone else.

To always allow recipients to opt-out and unsubscribe at any time.

www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk

To contact RBW please use the website contact box.

PATRON Ian McMillan www.ian-mcmillan.co.uk

Memberships and funders.

Rising Brook Writers strives to be compliant with the requirements of the Data Protection Act. RBW strives for accuracy and

fairness, however, can take no responsibility for any error, misinterpretation or inaccuracy in any message sent by this mode of

publishing. The opinions expressed are not necessarily in accordance with the policy of the charity. E-mails and attachments

sent out by RBW are believed to be free from viruses which might affect computer systems into which they are received or

opened but it is the responsibility of the recipient to ensure that they are virus free. Rising Brook Writers accepts no responsi-

bility for any loss or damage arising in any way from their receipt, opening or use. Environment/ Recycling: Please consider care-

fully if you need to print out any part or all of this message.

To the best of our knowledge and belief all the material included in this publication is free to use in the public domain, or has

been reproduced with permission, and/or source acknowledgement. RBW have researched rights where possible, if anyone’s

copyright is accidentally breached please inform us and we will remove the item with apologies. RBW is a community organisation,

whose aims are purely educational, and is entirely non-profit making. If using material from this collection for educational pur-

poses please be so kind as to acknowledge RBW as the source. Contributors retain the copyright to their own work. Fiction:

names, characters, places and incidents are imaginary or are being used in a fictitious way. Any resemblance to actual people living

or dead is entirely coincidental.

This bulletin is produced by volunteers.

© Rising Brook Writers 2012 — RCN 1117227 A voluntary charitable trust.