Issue 338 30th May 2014

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Random words : red, mysterious, definitely, docket, biscuit, badger, nicotine Assignment : Risk taking

This statement was posted on FB ... Is it true?

Swearing seems to becoming the norm even on TV and in books. Some really nasty words which were hardly ever used in polite society are now

in far more common usage, not that this is a good thing, but people seem

to be desensitised rather than offended. Is it true that the public do not care about

green issues, famine and war? Or is it more that people feel these big issues are out of the hands of the individual and they feel so powerless to make any difference that a large

percentage won’t even vote?

Tate Britain: Exhibition

10 June – 31 August 2014

BRITISH FOLK ART

http://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/tate-

britain/exhibition/british-folk-art

Image: George Smart 1840

Goose Woman Image : Tunbridge Wells Museum and Art Gallery

Dragon Hedge Image: Countryside Alliance Facebook

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

As such the articles are meant to be read individually and not as chapters of a book. The articles were written over a period of some 7 years. RBW is absolutely delighted that Mrs Hartley has agreed to some of her words of wisdom (assisted by Alan) being reproduced for our benefit.

Gardening Tips For May 10th 2013.

Hello Folks

There‟s a little verse I always think of when Spring arrives; - “Spring is sprung, the

grass is ris, I wonder where the birdies is?” This year Spring has come late and the

birds have been busy for the last few weeks filling their beaks with as much straw las

possible for their nests. Most of the Spring bulbs were very late flowering this year,

but the Summer flowering ones will catch up. However, in your haste to get planting

don‟t cut the leaves off Spring bulbs too early as it will stop them from flowering

next year altogether. I usually let the leaves go brown when they will easily pull off

at the same time as doing other dead heading and general tidying up and then all the

rubbish will go on the compost heap together.

Greenhouses should be getting more space in them as some of the hardier plug

vegetables such as Beetroot and Brussels, along with flowering plants such as Sweet

Peas and over wintering Chrysanthemum stools can be planted out now. This will

make room for transplanting indoor plants like Tomatoes and Cucumbers into large

pots before they go into their final growing positions to be grown, as either “Ring

Culture,” or in Growbags. Yellow sticky cards should be hung up in the greenhouse

to catch any Aphids that may have hibernated during the winter, because they do love

young tomato plants! With Cucumbers the “All female,” plants are the best type to

grow as other varieties can result in bitter cucumbers if the male flowers are left on

by mistake and the female flowers get pollinated. Cucumbers should be planted as

far from the door as possible because they don‟t like draughts. In small greenhouses

it‟s best to drop a sheet of polythene in front of them to keep off draughts and damp

the floor down regularly because they must also have humid conditions.

If you still have room in your greenhouse, hanging baskets and pots can be

planted up to get them established before they are ready to go out at the end of May

when all risk of frost should have gone. If you have any trays, or pots of bedding

plants waiting to go out, you can stand them against the house wall on the warmest

side, to make more space in your greenhouse. However, I keep a piece of horticul-

tural fleece handy and if a night frost is forecast, drop the fleece lightly over the

plants putting bricks on its edge to hold it down. By the way there are different

grades of fleece around these days, but they can all be washed gently and will last at

least 2, or 3 years.

Nearly everybody sows the whole packet of seeds when it is opened and then doesn‟t know

what to do with all the plants, but there is no need to use all the packet at once as most vegetable

and flower seeds will keep for 2, or 3 years and Tomatoes will keep for 4, or 5 years. Germination

rates will decline the longer a packet has been opened, but you can help prevent this by carefully

folding the top of the packet down gently, expressing the air out and then resealing the packet with

some tape before storing it in a cool, dry place such as a tin in a garage. For those being asked

what gardening gift they want for their birthday, some of the garden centres are now selling fancy,

“Gardeners‟ seed tins!”

2012: Gardening Tips For Week Ending May 5th

The weather is very changeable at the moment, but the frequent showers are very welcome as our

water tubs were getting very low. We do not water the garden except for newly planted things,

some of the vegetables and, of course, tubs and baskets. This year we are using “Swell Gel,” more

than ever before, especially after last year‟s dry conditions. Swell Gel absorbs water and then

slowly releases the moisture as the compost becomes dry. Sometimes it goes under another name. I

have been using it for about 30 years now, but when I first tried it, it was only for commercial use

and then it became well known for everyone to use. We put it in the base of the Runner Bean

trench, tubs, troughs and, of course, hanging baskets. It is fun stuff to use, but do read the instruc-

tions as a little bit will go a long way. In fact if you haven‟t used the water retaining powder before

put a little bit on a saucer, add a little water and you will see how much it swells. Afterwards you

can put it out on the garden, or let it dry out and go back into crystals so you can store it again until

you want it. You shouldn‟t put lots of chemicals in the garden, but we have even put some gel in

one of our very dry borders. After a prolonged dry spell, followed by a heavy shower, the whole

soil level in the border rises a couple of inches as the gel absorbs the water and swells!

I am not planting so many tubs and troughs this year, only about four at the back along with

a two-tier stand. It gets a lot of sun at the back, so they will be mostly Begonias from corms in the

hanging basket and Geraniums in the tubs that will stand the sun and don‟t mind drying out. There

will be two tubs, three troughs and two stands at the front where it is very cool and shady, so they

will be mainly planted with bedding Begonias and Busy Lizzies (Impatiens.) It should be safe

enough for all bedding plants to go out now I think. Some people bought their Runner Beans too

early and we saw several garden centres where the beans had caught a chill, but they should be all

right to put out now as well. When growing runner Beans it is a good idea to sink a pot 3 ½ or 4

inches into the ground by each plant just leaving the top clear and when watering each day pour

the water into the pot so that it goes straight to the roots instead of all over the ground. This stops

the soil from packing down round the plants and encourages the roots to go down for water. My

son has buried some plastic milk bottles instead. Before being buried they were slashed with a

knife to let the water out. My son brought a lovely big head of Purple Sprouting Broccoli from his

allotment for lunch. He planted the young plants in the autumn along

with Cabbages and Leeks. They‟ve stood all the Winter has thrown at

them and we are getting the benefit now with some fresh, home grown,

Spring vegetables. By the way the more Sweet Pea flowers you pick the

more flowers you get and do remember to take the seed pods off all the

time as they will stop them flowering if they are left on.

Well that‟s all for now. Cheerio. Frances Hartley

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Year 1589 : The Cast : The Queen’s Men : a group of strolling players thrown out of London where the theatres have been closed due to an outbreak of plague. Elizabeth I was on the throne. Kit Marlowe (wordsmith/detective), Harry Swann (the murderer of the-first victim who first found the chal-ice) Samuel Burball (Owner), Peter Pecksniff, Daniel Alleynes, young Hal who plays a girl’s role very badly. Vesta Swann, Rosie Ripp-sheet. The Boar’s Head Tavern, Trentby: Bertha landlady, Molly Golightly, Martha Goodnight wenches. Ned the bear keeper. The Trentby Abbey of St Jude : Abbot Ranulf knows something about the missing Roman hoard of silver plate/chalice etc The Manor of Bluddschott : sodden Squire Darnley Bluddschott, wife Mis-tress Anne, daughter Penelope about to be sold off into matrimony, Mis-tress Hood seamstress, sister to Penny, Mistress Tatanya

The Sheriff’s Castle : Magistrate Squire Humphrey Pettigrew, Black Knight, the Sheriff Burrowmere Lord Haywood, man-at-arms Richard of Hyde Leigh, a constable Daniel Smithers and a scribe Modern Day: Rick Fallon and Tommy Tip-Tip McGee** Private eyes in Trentby on case for Sir Kipling Aloysius Bluddschott (Sister Christabel) to locate silver chalice and Roman hoard of Trentby Abbey + corpse Jago Swann DI Pete Ferret and Lavender Pomeroy and Rose Rippsheet PLEASE NOTE: It is imperative that those writing for the storyline read what other writers have already written before they add a new piece. AND the year has been changed and Moll Rippsheet has become Rosie.

The Justice of Solomon (a tour de force by ACW) The Manor of Bluddschott was bedecked in its finest livery, freshest rushes lay on the

floor and brightest blooms from the garden bedecked walls all about and the best pewter plate laid out.

The already well inebriated Squire Darnley Bluddschott sat regally at the head of the tables, flanked by his Lady wife The Mistress Anne, his daughter Penelope about to be sold off into matrimony, and Mistress Hood, now raised from mere seamstress in the Queen’s Players, to be a recognised sister to Penelope.

Squire Bluddschott’s secret (a secret only in name) Mistress Tatanya, true but hidden mother of the Squire’s daughters and so really of regal Russian royal blood, sat to the left and top of the long table closest the top table of the Squire.

Ranked down the long table to the Squire’s right were the Quality of the County: Black Knight, the Sheriff Burrowmere Lord Haywood, Magistrate Squire Humphrey Pettigrew and man-at-arms Richard of Hyde Leigh.

The Queen’s Men, a group of strolling players thrown out of London as the theatres had been closed due to an outbreak of plague, were gathered behind the curtain of the makeshift stage at the feast at Bluddschott Manor.

Kit Marlowe, the penny per page playwright of the play being staged, looked nervously over to Samuel Burball, the owner of the Queen’s Players, who shot a nervous look back.

Peter Pecksniff and Daniel Alleynes had a last look at the script, which gave the listing of who was playing whom: Daniel Alleynes as Swandale, Hal as a low-born lover of cut purse, Burball as the villain, the cut purse Gypsy Smythe (or was he a wayward Moor tak-ing a convenient view of his swarthy looks to hide his escaped slave reality?) and the Priest, and Peter Pecksniff as an Acquaintance of Swandale, Alain de Nes.

Young Hal readied himself for his non-speaking part. Vesta Swann and Rosie Rippsheet busied themselves with back stage tasks in support

of the stage players. The musicians hired for the feast were beckoned by the host of the feast, Squire

Bluddschott to announce the play by a short musical flourish from the crumhorn player. Burball came out to centre stage, from stage left, in his Sunday best clothes, of white

ruff around his throat, set off by a long rope of pearls, a mellow cream shirt beneath green embroidered with gold jacket and doublet and green hose, and white feathered hat cocked to one side as in fashion with hatband studded with gold, and wearing his best polished long leather black boots.

With a flourish of his short cloak of same hue and embroider as jacket and doublet, Burball began the Prologue to the play.

‘I come no more to make you laugh: things now, That bear a weighty and a serious brow, Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe, Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,

We now present. Those that can pity, here May, if they think it well, let fall a tear; The subject will deserve it. Be sad, as we would make ye: think ye see The very persons of our noble story

As they were living; think you see them great, And follow'd with the general throng and sweat Of thousand friends; then in a moment, see How soon this mightiness meets misery: And, if you can be merry then, I'll say

A man may weep upon his wedding-day.’ Burball gave a goodly bow and took himself off stage. To quickly take off his finery for

a diorama with Hal later on in the play, and to help in bringing across the curtain painted with a scene of forest deep.

Daniel Alleynes enters as Swandale, nowhere near as well attired as Burball, being cos-tumed with only the merest hint of ruff at throat of his cream shirt, cream jacket printed with flourishes of brown swirls as if flowers and black breeches and not so well booted either.

Swandale sits upon the prop of a log. Swandale spouts forth … ‘Oh woe is me, Oh my, Oh, I am fortune's fool! A smoky chimney and a scolding wife

are two bad companions. Tho' marriage makes man and wife one flesh, it leaves 'em still

two fools. Thought her like the innocent flower, but be her serpent under’t.’ A gentle riffle of laughter went around the audience. Burball entered as Gypsy Smythe (yet looked more like a Moor) in furtive guile from

stage right. Togged up in bright red jacket and doublet, edged in yellow trim, with russet red breeches, and brightly new looking black boots, and makes towards a curtain drawn with a scene of a chapel, to go off stage left behind it.

Daniel Alleynes as Swandale hid behind a log, while Gypsy Smythe (Burball) goes off stage, returned with furtive guile crossing the stage going off stage right.

Daniel Alleynes as Swandale turned to the audience, with the back of hand to the side of his mouth, made an aside to audience.

‘Zounds, what is this Moor, yet so well attired, about? Does he affect piety in chapel and so brief a stay. What jingles in his scrip tied to his belt so, upon his taking leave.

What! Something falls, let us see what is amiss? By God’s hooks, t’is a king’s ransom of a noble gem.’

A curtain upon which is drawn a chapel is then added to by a further short curtain of a crypt scene and Daniel Alleynes as Swandale then turns about to audience and gives an-other aside.

‘Why beneath empty effigy of kings long past in chapel’s crypt, is such ancient gems, look ye aright.’

The Magistrate goes glazed and mutters under his breath in ire, and the Sheriff sighs at the thought that the church could not be taxed.

Peter Pecksniff then entered from stage right as Alain de Nes, as Daniel Alleynes as Swandale turned his back to the audience, inspecting his newly found riches.

Peter Pecksniff was attired in black jacket and doublet edged in yellow trim and em-

broidery atop a red shirt with small white lace at wrists, with the merest hint of white ruff to neck, a black cap with white feather adorned, and red russet breeches and black long leather boots.

Peter Pecksniff as Alain De Nes turned to the audience and gives an aside. ‘By God’s hooks, let me search more of this chapel of good fortune. Why look ye at velvet wrapped jewellery of gold and pearl to adorn the fairest maid’s swan neck.’

Swandale and Alain de Nes move to exit stage. Burball enter as Gypsy/Moor Smythe from stage left. Swordplay of fray betwixt

Smythe and the two men Swandale and Alain de Nes, at which the Gypsy Smythe is struck down after much struggle. To much gusto from the audience of advice at each stroke of the swordplay.

Gypsy Smyth gave death’s swansong by turned head and aside to audience. ‘When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.’ At which he

clasped his bosom, arched his back and slumped in death’s embrace. A single sob came from the audience, quickly stifled as unbecoming in a lady of qual-

ity. A curtain comes across to shield the fallen and Burball quickly gets up to return be-hind stage curtain, to gather up his priestly vestments for later in the play.

The curtain is then pulled away smartly. Alain de Nes said to Swandale, but to audience as well ‘No-one noble nor magistrate will care of such a lowly fellow’s demise, but methinks

this gives you, my dear Swandale, a sweet escape from your termagant’s wife’s bonds. Shall we swear an oath and speak of your sad passing?’

A riffle of agreement came from all and sundry gathered at the feast tables. Vesta Swann looked pensive for a second, before her duties took thought for another

time. Swandale continued: ‘Methinks, yea indeed, for courage mounteth with occasion’. Alain De Nes replied: ‘Having nothing, nothing can we lose.’ Swandale: ‘An honest tale speeds best being plainly told’. Alain De Nes: ‘But for my own part, it was Greek to me’. A merchant at the far end of the top table chuckled. Swandale: ‘The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose’. The clergy present tutted. Alain De Nes: ‘Oh talk Prose’. Swandale: ‘Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour

upon the stage and then is heard no more: It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and

fury, signifying nothing.’ Alain De Nes: ‘Hell is empty and all the devils are here’. The clergy really tutted and crossed themselves. Swandale: ‘The fashion wears out more apparel than the man’. The quality of the county fingered their fashionable attire, showing it off with beam-

ing smiles. Alain De Nes: ‘Zounds, that is it. His fancy wear, for your worn out threads, and all

will think the poor soul is you lain low’. Swandale: ‘Always the dullness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits’. The Sheriff thought to the dull fools at court, cabinet and houses of the lords, latter

mostly asleep in their dotage. Alain De Nes: ‘Things past redress and now with me, past care’.

Swandale: ‘What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet’.

Alain De Nes: ‘Every cloud engenders not a storm’. Swandale: ‘Lord, what fools these mortals be! Shall we part this luckless fellow to a

watery grave and the rest to a base midden’s steaming pile.’

At that moment a gasp came from the ladies gathered at the feast and a roar from Magistrate Squire Humphrey Pettigrew, Black Knight Sheriff Burrowmere Lord Haywood, and further down at the end of the table the man-at-arms Richard of Hyde Leigh, who then sat in stunned silence.

Daniel Alleynes and Peter Pecksniff, being professional actors, kept their nerve and

went on with the play. Swandale said, as the two turn to part, to Alain de Nes: ‘I have remembered myself.

That Moorish gypsy and his cuckold lover, another man’s lawful bride, were overheard by me of his blasphemous callous doing away of a pious man of the cloth and their laughter of joy in the telling’.

Behind them a curtain had parted slightly to reveal Burball dressed as Gypsy Smythe had been, with Hal in base brown serving wench attire as his cuckold lover, by her fur-tive looking about to ensure unseen, reacting to a tale between each other, but not in words, while sat on the log prop. The curtain slowly drew to cover the scene.

Alain De Nes: ‘How so, could a monk, foresworn to a life of piety and poverty in the life of Christ, be so well-endowed with the chinks?’

Burball entered as Priest dressed plainly as a man of the cloth.

‘His was a cursed soul, of overweening pride and lust for the material world of men. All hoods make not monks. Heaven sends fools, fortune.’

Swandale: ‘Justice visited on all, we say in confession, Priest.’ Priest: ‘What then do you offer to church my sons?’ All eyes fell upon the chalice, protruding from leather scrip bag held by

Swandale. A servant espied that a goblet had been used for this off the serving tables.

Swandale: ‘Oh true priest, we render Unto Church that which is the Church’s and unto Ceasar that which is Ceasar’s’.

Priest: ‘May you be forgiven your sins my sons’. Priest goes off stage left, as the two men exit stage right, and Burball quickly takes off

his priestly robes to reveal his finery and returns stage left. Burball strode to centre

stage once again in all his finery, and gave the Epilogue to the play. ‘I hold the Fates bound fast in iron chains, And with my hand turn Fortune’s wheel about. Nature, that framed us of four elements Warring within our breasts for regiment, Doth teach us all to have aspiring minds. Our souls, whose faculties can comprehend The wondrous architecture of the world And measure every wandering planet’s course, Still climbing after knowledge infinite, And always moving as the restless spheres, Wills us to wear ourselves and never rest,

Until we reach the ripest fruit of all, That perfect bliss and sole felicity, The sweet fruition of an earthly paradise.’ All cast players and support then enjoin in a merry jig of La Volte Galliard, joined by

all those enjoying the feast, to wild abandon by all the musicians of tambourine hit and shaken to give the cymbals a ring out, a drum slung from body and beaten with drum

sticks, the half pear shaped lute with delicate fretted neck and plucked strings, flute, wooden crumhorn with its u-turn at its end, harp and bagpipes.

Vesta Swann sat morose behind the curtain, realizing now she had been abandoned and buried a gypsy-moor not her husband, but had to remain in mourning. So be it, she thought, there’s plenty more fish in the sea and did a jig out of sight behind the stage curtains to celebrate her freedom.

Rosie Rippsheet had intentions upon Daniel Alleynes, but he was after better things with the now socially upward mobile Mistress Hood and got every opportunity to lift her up, up as high as she could go at the La Volte of the Galliard and now he had the chinks as well.

Peter Pecksniff and Kit Marlowe vied for a dance with the Lady Penelope and Kit Mar-lowe mostly won.

Kit had got his share off Daniel Alleynes’ new found riches to have slight artistic li-cense to the tale of woe of Harry Swann and so had a chance upon his suit of the Lady Penelope. Peter Pecksniff espied Vesta Swann doing a jig behind the stage curtains and went off for a hidden jig with the widow. Burball got then the full attention of Rosie Rippsheet.

To all lovers of the works of Webster, Marlowe and Shakespeare, please accept most profound apologies

for any passage which some may interpret as blatant plagiarism ... and in the hope others will recognise a homage to their mastery of

the language.

Blue shirt with a white collar The day we met you wore a midnight blue shirt with a white collar and a striped silk tie.

I was captivated by your brown-velvet voice, smooth as butter-cream, vowels melting,

baritone slow, oozing concern, sincere and caring. I fell in to trouble deep within, in that moment of clarity, acknowledging a need for solace.

But, looking back that was half-a-lifetime ago when the blood stirred and blossom was on the tree.

Before the loss of an innocence. Before rejection and declining second-best,

before weary years of non-commitment. Before that absolute betrayal. Before the shame of shared denial

as others intervened leaving their mark. Without a battle, without a shout,

you and I slipped through each others’ fingers leaving behind only a catalogue of regret and no hope for a happy ever after. SMS

The king sat in the counting house,

Counting out his money.

He looked perplexed and anxious

As if something there was funny.

I do mean funny „peculiar‟ not the „Ha! Ha!‟ kind.

„It‟s gone!‟ he shouted, suddenly,

„Someone has robbed me blind!‟

Instead of being flushed with cash

I find that I am not.

Call the Queen immediately,

Ask how much she‟s got!‟

The Queen arrived (with shopping bags)

Arrived there at the double.

„What‟s up my love, my darling?‟

(She knew she was in trouble!)

„Have you been shopping once again

And did you raid the coffers?

I know just how your mind works

When you hearabout those offers!‟

„I do admit that I took a bit,

I had seen a little dress.

It was sky blue with pink dots on,

And it came from M and S.‟

„You could have used your store-card

And paid for it that way.

I like to count my money

At this time every day.‟

„Well, the limit was exceeded,

We‟d had the final demand.

So, I paid them from your cash-box

And had a bit left in my hand.

Not enough to put back

For you to count your pounds,

And it was a very pretty dress,

No matter how it sounds!‟

„How much are we talking,

A hundred pounds? Or two?

Where‟s the rest of the money?

Did you take some more out too?

„Well, the matching shoes were charming,

The bag, was oh, so cute!

I know I was extravagant

But I‟ve used up all our loot.‟

The King went red with anger,

His crown flew off his head,

He ranted and he raved at her

And then, just fell down. DEAD!

A handsome, boyish, courtier

From behind a curtain came.

„You didn‟t tell him about

the lingerie

With the swanky

designer name!‟

She beckoned to the hand-

some lad,

Whispered, „Come with me.

I‟ll show you things you

never thought

You‟d ever get to see!‟

She opened the door quite slowly,

He stepped into the room,

Found it difficult to see

In the early evening gloom.

She pointed to the Royal Bed,

Draped in covers of darkest green.

„No need to waste the lingerie!

The King is dead!

LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!‟

Do our Doctors really think imposing a fee of £10.00/£25.00 to see a GP would ever work? Obviously, with so many people now living on our small crowded island and so many of the population being eld-erly there are bound to be pressures on the health service. It must be infuriating for doctors that so many people don’t turn up for their free at point of care surgery appointments when others are hav-ing to wait days longer than needed because of the ‘no-show’ers. But in these difficult financial times, which is a nice way of saying most folks are living on, or below, the breadline whether they have a job or not, then imposing a blanket fee to see a GP can only result in one thing ... desperate people will bypass the GP altogether, vote with their feet and queue up in A&E complete with sleeping bag and thermos. Surely, four hour waiting times in A&E will seem like nothing com-pared to the ruination of the NHS if GPs impose a £10.00/£25.00 fee. Is it so difficult to predict that this would be the outcome of such a drastic retrograde step back to the bad old days of the pre-1940s when only the wealthy could afford to see a doctor and the poor simply died of relatively minor complaints as they didn’t have the money to pay for a doctor appointment. Or even worse the impoverished were thrown at the mercy of quacks and self-medication. Can you imagine the chaos now if the only doctoring available at a price you can afford was by the internet ... Would the sick be self-administering bogus meds

full of dodgy chemicals shipped in from abroad at a knock-down price, or, even worse, smuggled in by the container load? The death toll could be epic. Some may think there could be a case made for a ‘fine’ for those who fail to turn up for a booked ap-pointment (even some hairdressers and some private dentists already make such fines although, probably, many also lose cus-tomers because of them). Unfortunately, many of those who fail to turn up for a GP appointment have mental health issues. What doctor worth their salt is going to fine a person with dementia for forgetting their des-ignated appointment? The outcry would be politically ruinous!

So if fees and fines are not appropriate, what is?

I, for one, don’t have an answer, but, what is clear is that there needs to be a serious debate on how to move forwards and how not to take a sixty year step backwards. Not that one expects much will change this side of the general election, introduction of GP fees would be far too much of a political hot potato, wouldn’t they?

FINAL SCORE writes Anne Picken Lot of nail biting for Liverpool fans as the league season closed, but an even more impor-

tant game was played there last week, namely Dalys versus Diocese. Kick off was in 2011, at least that’s when The Dalys (us) assembled a team. The

Diocese, or the church in question, had already been training for three years, but had

failed to inform us of the fixture, informing instead our aunt whose death in 1977 was clearly recorded on the family gravestone. So the first we heard of it was a front page

spread in the Liverpool Echo. ‘What?’ cried our cousins who still have access to that jour-nal. ‘Build a giant WW2 pillbox over our grave? And over 86 others as well? Not on your life!’

‘You’ll never beat the Church of England,’ folk said. But we kitted up. Their team was obviously far more experienced than ours. They had constructed a

fat dossier indicating their mission was impossible without this monstrosity on the side of the oldest church in the city, a beautiful medieval sandstone building with which our fam-

ily has been associated for 100+ years. ‘What do you want it for?’ we asked. ‘Tea making space,’ they said. ‘Toilets.’

‘You’ve already got all that in the church hall 100 yards away.’ ‘Disabled access.’

‘You’ve got it.’ ‘Wheelchairs are getting bigger.’

‘Why didn’t you tell us this when you interred our mother’s ashes in 2008? Plans were well under way then.’

‘Sorry,’ they said, unconvincingly.

So although on the face of it they had a better team, we were fuelled by fury. The application had already been heard, (surely it’s against the rules to start a game

before your opponent turns up?) but the linesmen, AKA Planning committee, thought there was a possible infringement. ‘Don’t like the idea of building over graves,’ they said. ‘Let’s have a closer look.’

When the game reconvened The Dalys were in position, played their hearts out, and scored. ‘Yippee!’ we cried in the pub. ‘That’s that sorted’. But we’d forgotten there was a

second half. They brought on some expensive players (solicitors), appealed to the ref and equalised.

But the game still wasn’t over. To change their building a church has to apply to a mighty man called The Chancellor for a faculty to do so. Sort of FA chairman. When they tried this we defended well – oh, how much we learned during this game – and con-

tested it, thus initiating a Consistory Court hearing. It was set for a year hence but after that time the church applied for a 12 month extension because they weren’t ready. They

passed the ball between them in a tight little circle and thought we couldn’t see what they were doing.

But we had players lined up everywhere by then – journalists from Private Eye as well as from The Echo and local radio, politicians, heritage officials, historians, archaeolo-gists, loads of letters to various editors and, of course, spies inside the church, ‘The PCC

have got another extension from the Archdeacon,’ they reported, thus getting the ball away. ‘Not from the Chancellor?’ we asked, streaking down the field with it. ‘Not from the

Chancellor?’ shouted our wingers via emails, letters, phone calls, keeping their eyes firmly on the ball.

‘The Bishop agrees,’ said their centre forward desperately, trying to kick it out, and

bang! There it went. Straight off his boot into the back of his own net. A spectacular own goal.

Final score: Dalys 2, Diocese 1. Plus a slap on the wrist from the mighty man for not consulting him. So the moral is do take on the big boys. You’ll never walk alone.

THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER

When my mother died I was very young,

And my father sold me while yet my tongue

Could scarcely cry "Weep! weep! weep! weep!"

So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.

There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head,

That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved; so I said,

"Hush, Tom! never mind it, for, when your head's bare,

You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair."

And so he was quiet, and that very night,

As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight!--

That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack,

Were all of them locked up in coffins of black.

And by came an angel, who had a bright key,

And he opened the coffins, and let them all free;

Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing, they run,

And wash in a river, and shine in the sun.

Then naked and white, all their bags left behind,

They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind;

And the Angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy,

He'd have God for his father, and never want joy.

And so Tom awoke, and we rose in the dark,

And got with our bags and our brushes to work.

Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm:

So, if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.

Poems of William Blake

By William Blake

http://www.gutenberg.org/files/574/574.txt

http://wordsonweaving.wordpress.com/ Elizabeth Leaper weaving blog

Exhibition Announcement

Our „Edge to Edge‟ exhibition has now been announced on the Nuneaton Museum and Art Gallery website. To

read about it click on the link „here‟ to go to the site and follow the links to the Temporary Exhibitions Pro-

gramme.

The exhibition runs from 24th May to 13th July 2014 and on each Tuesday one of us will be there to demon-

strate tapestry weaving. My (Elizabeth Leaper) demonstration day is Tuesday 1st July. Also, we will all be at

the gallery on Saturday 7th June to talk about our work and there will be a chance for everyone to have a go,

plus, on Friday 30th May Pauline Fisk will be giving a lunch-time talk on world-wide tapestry weaving. We

would be pleased to see you if you can make it on any of these occasions.

Edward St Aubyn wins Wodehouse prize with a satire

of literary awards.

The author's comic novel „Lost for Words’ beats

Sebastian Faulks's authorised Wodehouse sequel to

win 'the only prize with a sense of humour'.

http://www.theguardian.com/culture/2014/may/19/edward-st-aubyn-wins-wodehouse-prize PS: The pig is a Gloucestershire Old Spot ...

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