Picture it and Write ~ Which Way?
This is the latest Picture it and Write prompt from Ermilia’s blog.
https://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/12/28/picture-it-write-49/
As always the image is provided and credited by Ermilia
https://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/12/28/picture-it-write-49/
As always the image is provided and credited by Ermilia
WHICH WAY?
by John Yeo
I am the man at the door. "Welcome to death". There are two routes to follow here, on the left we have the ladder to the top, the soft sturdy easy route to follow, usually travelled by those lucky enough to be born with a sliver spoon. On the right there is the twisting turning care-worn difficult path, travelled by many. Here at death's door we are presented with the choice. The decision is yours, whichever way you go is the continuation of your journey towards heaven and eternal life. I am here as your spiritual guide and I can only guide you to this point, nothing is ever easy, if you take the easy way out you may make a mistake, no-one has ever returned to tell the tale from either route. The hard way has many twists and turns, however both routes lead to the same place eventually, the choice is yours.
The majority of the people who have had soft easy lives and have continually taken questionable shortcuts along the way, take the soft easy option and use the ladder on the left, very few take the well trod worn ladder on the right.
Not a single person sees the trapdoor under the ladder on the left that instantly sends them back to start the journey all over again.
Copyright © written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved
by John Yeo
I am the man at the door. "Welcome to death". There are two routes to follow here, on the left we have the ladder to the top, the soft sturdy easy route to follow, usually travelled by those lucky enough to be born with a sliver spoon. On the right there is the twisting turning care-worn difficult path, travelled by many. Here at death's door we are presented with the choice. The decision is yours, whichever way you go is the continuation of your journey towards heaven and eternal life. I am here as your spiritual guide and I can only guide you to this point, nothing is ever easy, if you take the easy way out you may make a mistake, no-one has ever returned to tell the tale from either route. The hard way has many twists and turns, however both routes lead to the same place eventually, the choice is yours.
The majority of the people who have had soft easy lives and have continually taken questionable shortcuts along the way, take the soft easy option and use the ladder on the left, very few take the well trod worn ladder on the right.
Not a single person sees the trapdoor under the ladder on the left that instantly sends them back to start the journey all over again.
Copyright © written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved
Picture it and Write~Sinister Sanatorium
This is the latest Picture it and Write prompt from Ermilia’s blog.
https://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/12/21/__picture-it-write-97/
As always the image is provided and credited by Ermilia
https://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/12/21/__picture-it-write-97/
As always the image is provided and credited by Ermilia
SINISTER SANATORIUM
by John Yeo
The year was 1903. We lived in the heart of the City of London. I was quite a prosperous businessman and my wife who had a nursing background followed her own interests. We lived comfortably and shared much together.
I had been struck down with a persistent cough for several weeks. When I started coughing up blood, the doctor made his diagnosis and recommended I stay in a sanatorium. We visited several institutions and finally selected a well recommended hospital on the windy Cornish coastline. Fresh air was thought to be an essential part of the treatment. The isolated imposing building was perched on a cliff with the raging boiling sea stretching out in the front and very large grounds at the rear. Consumption was rife all over the country and the sanatoriums were full of people taking the cure with rest, exercise and fresh air for recuperation. Sadly many people died of the illness and were buried in a private cemetery in the grounds.
One day a body was discovered in suspicious circumstances in the gardens. The police were loathe to call and investigate and as it was thought death was imminent due to the nature of the illness, the death was almost hushed up. The patient was a Lord Raven, a very wealthy man and his relatives were very keen to get answers. They called in a private investigator, Marg, a very astute tough lady sleuth, who after completing her enquiries decided it was undoubtedly an inside job. Some days later when Lord Raven’s will was read, it became clear that her suspicions were correct as he had left all of his substantial wealth to the directors of the sanatorium. The police arrested the entire board of directors, and after many enquiries it was discovered this was a much larger operation, and past patients had donated millions to these crooks before their deaths in the remote sanatorium. It became clear there was a mysterious, Mr Big in control, who lived across the Atlantic in Colorado.
Lord Raven’s family hired Marg to investigate and the chase goes on ~~~ ( to be continued)
Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved
by John Yeo
The year was 1903. We lived in the heart of the City of London. I was quite a prosperous businessman and my wife who had a nursing background followed her own interests. We lived comfortably and shared much together.
I had been struck down with a persistent cough for several weeks. When I started coughing up blood, the doctor made his diagnosis and recommended I stay in a sanatorium. We visited several institutions and finally selected a well recommended hospital on the windy Cornish coastline. Fresh air was thought to be an essential part of the treatment. The isolated imposing building was perched on a cliff with the raging boiling sea stretching out in the front and very large grounds at the rear. Consumption was rife all over the country and the sanatoriums were full of people taking the cure with rest, exercise and fresh air for recuperation. Sadly many people died of the illness and were buried in a private cemetery in the grounds.
One day a body was discovered in suspicious circumstances in the gardens. The police were loathe to call and investigate and as it was thought death was imminent due to the nature of the illness, the death was almost hushed up. The patient was a Lord Raven, a very wealthy man and his relatives were very keen to get answers. They called in a private investigator, Marg, a very astute tough lady sleuth, who after completing her enquiries decided it was undoubtedly an inside job. Some days later when Lord Raven’s will was read, it became clear that her suspicions were correct as he had left all of his substantial wealth to the directors of the sanatorium. The police arrested the entire board of directors, and after many enquiries it was discovered this was a much larger operation, and past patients had donated millions to these crooks before their deaths in the remote sanatorium. It became clear there was a mysterious, Mr Big in control, who lived across the Atlantic in Colorado.
Lord Raven’s family hired Marg to investigate and the chase goes on ~~~ ( to be continued)
Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved
Picture it and Write~His best friend
This is the latest Picture it and Write prompt from Ermilia’s blog.
https://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/12/14/picture-it-write-48/
As always the image is provided and credited by Ermilia
https://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/12/14/picture-it-write-48/
As always the image is provided and credited by Ermilia
HIS BEST FRIEND
by John Yeo
He sat on a bench in the orchard, savouring the beauty of a magical spring day. The blossom from the tree above drifted down on him as his thoughts drifted over the sad news that had hit him like a sledge-hammer.
He smiled inwardly as he contrasted the gentle brush of the falling petals on his skin with the thought of a brutal sledge-hammer. The news had been devastating, ripping through his mind and tearing his world apart. He knew life would never, could never, be the same again. Less than a year, the specialist had said, he could not suppress a tear, then he was suddenly sobbing uncontrollably.
Why? They had been inseparable, never seen apart, very good friends from day one. Then his trusty four-legged friend slowly hobbled towards him and gently placed his paws on his knees. Looking up at him with soulful eyes, he licked his masters hand as if to say: Good-bye is never really Good-bye. Suppressing the tears, he patted and smoothed his faithful friend's fur, then stroked the old dogs head. The petals continued to fall, covering the bench and the ground below the seat as living tears.
Copyright (c) Written by John Yeo ~All rights reserved.
by John Yeo
He sat on a bench in the orchard, savouring the beauty of a magical spring day. The blossom from the tree above drifted down on him as his thoughts drifted over the sad news that had hit him like a sledge-hammer.
He smiled inwardly as he contrasted the gentle brush of the falling petals on his skin with the thought of a brutal sledge-hammer. The news had been devastating, ripping through his mind and tearing his world apart. He knew life would never, could never, be the same again. Less than a year, the specialist had said, he could not suppress a tear, then he was suddenly sobbing uncontrollably.
Why? They had been inseparable, never seen apart, very good friends from day one. Then his trusty four-legged friend slowly hobbled towards him and gently placed his paws on his knees. Looking up at him with soulful eyes, he licked his masters hand as if to say: Good-bye is never really Good-bye. Suppressing the tears, he patted and smoothed his faithful friend's fur, then stroked the old dogs head. The petals continued to fall, covering the bench and the ground below the seat as living tears.
Copyright (c) Written by John Yeo ~All rights reserved.
Picture it and Write~Controlling Power
This is the latest Picture it and Write prompt from Ermilia’s blog.
https://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/12/07/__picture-it-write-96/
As always the image is provided and credited by Ermilia
https://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/12/07/__picture-it-write-96/
As always the image is provided and credited by Ermilia
Resin stacking rings by daimblond
CONTROLLING POWER
by John Yeo
Micro science was radically altering the way of life of the Human race. This amazing blend of physics and science, moulded to new discoveries in the fields of psychology and biology, led to many new discoveries that were still unfolding.
Waves of the new power obtained from the elusive dark matter that surrounds us all in the new dimension, allowed the Human race to achieve miracles with new scientific advances.
Enormous amounts of knowledge could be stored in tiny rings that were archives which could be accessed simply by thought power, allowing instant access to the answers to many fields of enquiry.
The thought rings were distributed to all young people when they reached the age of thirteen, where they replaced the old-fashioned education system.
Dickus was a rogue scientist who developed a secret control ring, that would be able to control the thoughts of everyone wearing a thought ring. In a slow insidious way he became master of the ringed society, and immediately ordered all children to be ringed at birth with the developmment of new materials that would expand wlth time and growth. A new God was worshipped as Dickus was both cruel and ruthless in his use of these limitless powers.
One day an alien spacecraft arrived and landed in the newly created lush green forest that was once the Sahara desert. The aliens were returning Human spacemen and their families who had been travelling around the outer reaches of the known universe for centuries.
Dickus could see danger and began to create weapons to wipe out the newcomers, who of course did not wear thought control rings. Dickus invited the leaders of the space families to his palace, to commune with them about the wonders of the rings, with their access to vast stores of unlimited knowledge.
The sage old leader who could see many zombie-like people, obedient to Dickus's every command, refused. Drawing his old fashioned ray-gun, he shot and killed the dictator, cut his finger off and threw both finger and ring into the deepest part of the ocean.The body of this evil monster was then publicly burned never to return.
The population immediately woke from their enforced trance and removed the thought control rings.. New methods of learning and culture were developed and many years of happy contentment followed.
Meanwhile in a remote laboratory in a cave hidden deep in the rockiest mountains, a cryogenically stored clone of Dickus stirred, as a computer generated robot began to adjust the temperature.
(to be continued)
Copyright (c) Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved
by John Yeo
Micro science was radically altering the way of life of the Human race. This amazing blend of physics and science, moulded to new discoveries in the fields of psychology and biology, led to many new discoveries that were still unfolding.
Waves of the new power obtained from the elusive dark matter that surrounds us all in the new dimension, allowed the Human race to achieve miracles with new scientific advances.
Enormous amounts of knowledge could be stored in tiny rings that were archives which could be accessed simply by thought power, allowing instant access to the answers to many fields of enquiry.
The thought rings were distributed to all young people when they reached the age of thirteen, where they replaced the old-fashioned education system.
Dickus was a rogue scientist who developed a secret control ring, that would be able to control the thoughts of everyone wearing a thought ring. In a slow insidious way he became master of the ringed society, and immediately ordered all children to be ringed at birth with the developmment of new materials that would expand wlth time and growth. A new God was worshipped as Dickus was both cruel and ruthless in his use of these limitless powers.
One day an alien spacecraft arrived and landed in the newly created lush green forest that was once the Sahara desert. The aliens were returning Human spacemen and their families who had been travelling around the outer reaches of the known universe for centuries.
Dickus could see danger and began to create weapons to wipe out the newcomers, who of course did not wear thought control rings. Dickus invited the leaders of the space families to his palace, to commune with them about the wonders of the rings, with their access to vast stores of unlimited knowledge.
The sage old leader who could see many zombie-like people, obedient to Dickus's every command, refused. Drawing his old fashioned ray-gun, he shot and killed the dictator, cut his finger off and threw both finger and ring into the deepest part of the ocean.The body of this evil monster was then publicly burned never to return.
The population immediately woke from their enforced trance and removed the thought control rings.. New methods of learning and culture were developed and many years of happy contentment followed.
Meanwhile in a remote laboratory in a cave hidden deep in the rockiest mountains, a cryogenically stored clone of Dickus stirred, as a computer generated robot began to adjust the temperature.
(to be continued)
Copyright (c) Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved
Picture it and write ~ The Ugly Sisters
This is the latest Picture it and Write prompt from Ermilia’s blog.
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/11/02/picture-it-write-45/
As always the image is provided and credited by Ermilia
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/11/02/picture-it-write-45/
As always the image is provided and credited by Ermilia
Original image: http://showmeyourmumu.tumblr.com/image/40022780071
THE UGLY SISTERS
by John Yeo
It was the time of the Christmas pantomime. The twins, Cleo and Marie were desperate to be in their first stage show. They went to the audition together, where to their horror, the only parts left were the ugly sisters in “Cinderella”. Everyone agreed they were far too pretty to be cast as ugly sisters. The girls cried, begged, pleaded and made such a scene their dramatic acting abilities were incredibly clear. The casting director decided to send them to a makeup artist to work magic and make them appear ugly. The professional makeup artist threw her arms up in the air, and shouted. “Impossible! I cannot work with these girls. How can I be expected to change Beauty into the Beast, twice?” The two girls got to work and created such a scene, he caved in and agreed to do his best. The makeup was applied liberally, wigs were added to create an effect of individuality. Everyone agreed that he had done his best but the twins would have to act even more ugly to complete the effect.
Copyright © ~ Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.
by John Yeo
It was the time of the Christmas pantomime. The twins, Cleo and Marie were desperate to be in their first stage show. They went to the audition together, where to their horror, the only parts left were the ugly sisters in “Cinderella”. Everyone agreed they were far too pretty to be cast as ugly sisters. The girls cried, begged, pleaded and made such a scene their dramatic acting abilities were incredibly clear. The casting director decided to send them to a makeup artist to work magic and make them appear ugly. The professional makeup artist threw her arms up in the air, and shouted. “Impossible! I cannot work with these girls. How can I be expected to change Beauty into the Beast, twice?” The two girls got to work and created such a scene, he caved in and agreed to do his best. The makeup was applied liberally, wigs were added to create an effect of individuality. Everyone agreed that he had done his best but the twins would have to act even more ugly to complete the effect.
Copyright © ~ Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.
Picture it and Write ~ The legacy
This is the latest Picture it and Write prompt from Ermilia’s blog.
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/10/26/__picture-it-write-93/
As always the image is provided and credited by Ermilia
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/10/26/__picture-it-write-93/
As always the image is provided and credited by Ermilia
THE LEGACY
by John Yeo
by John Yeo
I am a story that is still in the telling. I entered the family profession as a boy in India. My life as a mahout started very early, when I was assigned Dattiji, who was a very young elephant. My training began, and my elephant and I grew up together.
I used my hook and trained Dattiji to trust me alone, Dattiji used his natural friendliness and loyalty to train me. We became very close, I slept with my elephant ate my food with my elephant, we spent our lives together.
One night, I was awoken very early in the morning to frightening screams of agony from Dattiji. I then realised that Ganesh, the Indian god of elephants had arrived to take Dattiji to heaven. I was heartbroken at the loss of my elephant.
I designed an image of the eternal elephant spirit, decorated with a spiritual headdress. A very good friend, a skilled artist, tattooed my creation on my hand. I now have a permanent memory to carry wherever I go, of my elephant friend Dattiji.
Many people ask me about this unusual design and I now take commissions to design and create unique works of art.
I could never go back to my first profession as a mahout, I know I will never find another friend like Dattiji.
I used my hook and trained Dattiji to trust me alone, Dattiji used his natural friendliness and loyalty to train me. We became very close, I slept with my elephant ate my food with my elephant, we spent our lives together.
One night, I was awoken very early in the morning to frightening screams of agony from Dattiji. I then realised that Ganesh, the Indian god of elephants had arrived to take Dattiji to heaven. I was heartbroken at the loss of my elephant.
I designed an image of the eternal elephant spirit, decorated with a spiritual headdress. A very good friend, a skilled artist, tattooed my creation on my hand. I now have a permanent memory to carry wherever I go, of my elephant friend Dattiji.
Many people ask me about this unusual design and I now take commissions to design and create unique works of art.
I could never go back to my first profession as a mahout, I know I will never find another friend like Dattiji.
Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved
Picture it and write~ The Seeds of release
This is the latest Picture it and Write prompt from Ermilia’s blog.
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/10/12/__picture-it-write-92/
As always the image is provided and credited by Ermilia
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/10/12/__picture-it-write-92/
As always the image is provided and credited by Ermilia
THE SEEDS OF RELEASE
by John Yeo
My very good friend Peter is a Botanist, we spent 5 years in college at the same time where we became very close friends. I studied Medicine and Natural Sciences. We were both keenly interested in Botany and the undiscovered plants hidden deep in the Brazilian rainforest. My father is an industrialist and decided to fund an expedition to allow Peter and I to follow our dreams, for a share of any profits.
We arrived in Brazil, where we met a man named Luiz, who we took to, immediately. He was a native from the rainforest and he offered to be our guide and expedition leader, and help us get the expedition together. In the name of Science, we made the trip into the depths of the rainforest to search for medicinal plants.
Luiz was an expert on the rainforest folk lore and we trekked for miles through the almost impenetrable jungle. We reached a distant village, that looked like a permanent camp-site, after many days of onerous travelling. We met with much danger on our travels and survived.
As we approached the village a poisonous snake suddenly pounced from the trees above and bit one of our bearers in the face. The shaman from the tribe, was summoned, and quickly arrived and produced an unusual hairy pod full of shiny seeds,and he quickly ordered the bearer to swallow one of the seeds. Following this the injured man lay very still. We were enthralled.
“These are the seeds of despair”, he proffered the strange hairy pod open and full of round shiny seeds.
“The seeds of despair, whenever the mind is sad or in a black abyss, these seeds will chase the illness away”.
We were overcome with joy, here was a cure for depression. The black dog that affects so many people in the Western world.
The wise old shaman then went on to say these wonderful seeds would cure the effects of memory loss and the slow deterioration of the old and aged people.
We could not believe the implications of taking home a cure for Alzheimers disease.
The learned shaman then began to speak of another world where happiness reigns and sickness and death no longer matter.
These magical seeds bring instant transportation, and a very quick passage to heaven, where the cure is complete.
by John Yeo
My very good friend Peter is a Botanist, we spent 5 years in college at the same time where we became very close friends. I studied Medicine and Natural Sciences. We were both keenly interested in Botany and the undiscovered plants hidden deep in the Brazilian rainforest. My father is an industrialist and decided to fund an expedition to allow Peter and I to follow our dreams, for a share of any profits.
We arrived in Brazil, where we met a man named Luiz, who we took to, immediately. He was a native from the rainforest and he offered to be our guide and expedition leader, and help us get the expedition together. In the name of Science, we made the trip into the depths of the rainforest to search for medicinal plants.
Luiz was an expert on the rainforest folk lore and we trekked for miles through the almost impenetrable jungle. We reached a distant village, that looked like a permanent camp-site, after many days of onerous travelling. We met with much danger on our travels and survived.
As we approached the village a poisonous snake suddenly pounced from the trees above and bit one of our bearers in the face. The shaman from the tribe, was summoned, and quickly arrived and produced an unusual hairy pod full of shiny seeds,and he quickly ordered the bearer to swallow one of the seeds. Following this the injured man lay very still. We were enthralled.
“These are the seeds of despair”, he proffered the strange hairy pod open and full of round shiny seeds.
“The seeds of despair, whenever the mind is sad or in a black abyss, these seeds will chase the illness away”.
We were overcome with joy, here was a cure for depression. The black dog that affects so many people in the Western world.
The wise old shaman then went on to say these wonderful seeds would cure the effects of memory loss and the slow deterioration of the old and aged people.
We could not believe the implications of taking home a cure for Alzheimers disease.
The learned shaman then began to speak of another world where happiness reigns and sickness and death no longer matter.
These magical seeds bring instant transportation, and a very quick passage to heaven, where the cure is complete.
Copyright © Written by John Yeo, All rights reserved.
Picture it and Write~Forbidden Knowledge
This is the latest Picture it and Write prompt from Ermilia’s blog.
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/08/10/picture-it-write-40/
As always the image is provided and credited by Ermilia
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/08/10/picture-it-write-40/
As always the image is provided and credited by Ermilia
FORBIDDEN KNOWLEDGE
By John Yeo
Egyptologists have searched for centuries for the ancient knowledge that has been lost since the pyramids were constructed and erected by primitive peoples with little or no technology. The science of the time passed down orally through the religious leaders over centuries, was never written until various holy men began to write some of the precious knowledge.
Hearsay and legend reported a mysterious, very elderly lady in possession of a magical book of very rare information passed from mouth to mouth, then recorded on papyrus scrolls. An amazing discovery of some surviving scrolls led to the premature deaths of the finders, reportedly from the effects of a very potent curse.
The lady who was the wife of one of these intrepid explorers, came into possession of two of these rare scrolls and she was brave enough to have them published, in the form of a small innocuous black book. The original scrolls mysteriously vanished at the printers.
Now in hiding from mysterious dark forces, keen to gain possession of the forbidden knowledge, the lady lived in a palatial residence, situated on a swampy oasis that was considered very safe from the attentions of the invaders.
A very sad first mistake, one eventful day a rider arrived with a message from friends warning her to be on guard, as a very powerful undercover organisation known as the Society of the Black Scarab was very close to finding her.
Fear spread through her household and three trusted servants vanished never to be seen or heard of again. Fatima remained loyal to her lady, although vulnerable and open to attack from all sides, they remained in the mansion and sent Fatima's son to get help.
Night fell and silence descended on the oasis. The occasional cry of an animal or a beast on the prowl was all that broke the silence of that lonely hostile place.
Riders were heard approaching fast, the two ladies breathed with relief, help had arrived just in time. A voice interrupted the natural punctuated silence. "Allow us in we are here to help! Open up!"
Realisation set in, this was not help, but the dangerous thugs from the society after the valuable little black book.
The two frightened ladies grabbed the book and ran out into the night through the rear entrance heading silently into the swampy oasis.
Tragedy followed, as the brave lady carrying the book of cursed secrets, stepped directly into a marshy quicksand and began to sink in the sandy mud. Fatima and the bandits could only watch in horror as she was slowly sucked into the earth to her death. The last visible signs of a brave lady was her hand clutching the cursed book until they both disappeared from view, sucked into the bowels of the earth. The curse of the forbidden knowledge had claimed another victim.
By John Yeo
Egyptologists have searched for centuries for the ancient knowledge that has been lost since the pyramids were constructed and erected by primitive peoples with little or no technology. The science of the time passed down orally through the religious leaders over centuries, was never written until various holy men began to write some of the precious knowledge.
Hearsay and legend reported a mysterious, very elderly lady in possession of a magical book of very rare information passed from mouth to mouth, then recorded on papyrus scrolls. An amazing discovery of some surviving scrolls led to the premature deaths of the finders, reportedly from the effects of a very potent curse.
The lady who was the wife of one of these intrepid explorers, came into possession of two of these rare scrolls and she was brave enough to have them published, in the form of a small innocuous black book. The original scrolls mysteriously vanished at the printers.
Now in hiding from mysterious dark forces, keen to gain possession of the forbidden knowledge, the lady lived in a palatial residence, situated on a swampy oasis that was considered very safe from the attentions of the invaders.
A very sad first mistake, one eventful day a rider arrived with a message from friends warning her to be on guard, as a very powerful undercover organisation known as the Society of the Black Scarab was very close to finding her.
Fear spread through her household and three trusted servants vanished never to be seen or heard of again. Fatima remained loyal to her lady, although vulnerable and open to attack from all sides, they remained in the mansion and sent Fatima's son to get help.
Night fell and silence descended on the oasis. The occasional cry of an animal or a beast on the prowl was all that broke the silence of that lonely hostile place.
Riders were heard approaching fast, the two ladies breathed with relief, help had arrived just in time. A voice interrupted the natural punctuated silence. "Allow us in we are here to help! Open up!"
Realisation set in, this was not help, but the dangerous thugs from the society after the valuable little black book.
The two frightened ladies grabbed the book and ran out into the night through the rear entrance heading silently into the swampy oasis.
Tragedy followed, as the brave lady carrying the book of cursed secrets, stepped directly into a marshy quicksand and began to sink in the sandy mud. Fatima and the bandits could only watch in horror as she was slowly sucked into the earth to her death. The last visible signs of a brave lady was her hand clutching the cursed book until they both disappeared from view, sucked into the bowels of the earth. The curse of the forbidden knowledge had claimed another victim.
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Copyright © Written by John Yeo All rights reserved
Picture it and Write~ The Folly
This is the latest "Picture it and Write" prompt from Ermilia's blog
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/08/03/__picture-it-write-87/
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/08/03/__picture-it-write-87/
Picture provided and credited by Ermilia~
THE FOLLY
by John Yeo
Mrs Green was odd, she lived alone without any human companionship, just her canary and some goldfish.
The cottage that was her home was a very small cottage with a thatched roof. China ducks flew on the wall, visible through the front room window, behind an aspidistra plant on the window sill.
Mrs Green was very aged, some said she was in her nineties, nobody knew for sure, she always kept herself to herself. We had never seen any visitors to her home except for the doctor or a nurse if ever she was taken poorly, or tradesmen delivering milk, bread or groceries.
Then came the fire that suddenly erupted in the kitchen and burnt the cottage to the ground, Mrs Green, sadly was consumed in the flames and passed away.
The cottage stood derelict for some years until it was explored, with a view to building on the land. There was a brick-built folly in the garden, that looked crumbling and derelict, but somehow had remained intact over the years. When the door was broken down and entry gained a treasure trove of clues to the background and lifestyle of the eminent scientist and author, Felicity Green was revealed. There were many books lining the walls, and piled in heaps on the floor. Many hand-written books of scientific remedies for curing warts to a revolutionary new cure for some forms of cancer. There were notebooks full of her copper-plate handwriting and poetical works with pressed flowers.
On a very dusty ornate antique desk, littered with articles for her work and many dried herbs, lay a handwritten volume of the most beautiful poetry I have ever read.
We preserved her wonderful folly as a permanent memorial to Felicity Green. Many millions of pounds in revenue have been accumulated from her scientific discoveries, and her amazing poetical works will live forever alongside, William Shakespeare and many talented writers down through the ages.
Copyright © Written by John Yeo, All rights reserved.
by John Yeo
Mrs Green was odd, she lived alone without any human companionship, just her canary and some goldfish.
The cottage that was her home was a very small cottage with a thatched roof. China ducks flew on the wall, visible through the front room window, behind an aspidistra plant on the window sill.
Mrs Green was very aged, some said she was in her nineties, nobody knew for sure, she always kept herself to herself. We had never seen any visitors to her home except for the doctor or a nurse if ever she was taken poorly, or tradesmen delivering milk, bread or groceries.
Then came the fire that suddenly erupted in the kitchen and burnt the cottage to the ground, Mrs Green, sadly was consumed in the flames and passed away.
The cottage stood derelict for some years until it was explored, with a view to building on the land. There was a brick-built folly in the garden, that looked crumbling and derelict, but somehow had remained intact over the years. When the door was broken down and entry gained a treasure trove of clues to the background and lifestyle of the eminent scientist and author, Felicity Green was revealed. There were many books lining the walls, and piled in heaps on the floor. Many hand-written books of scientific remedies for curing warts to a revolutionary new cure for some forms of cancer. There were notebooks full of her copper-plate handwriting and poetical works with pressed flowers.
On a very dusty ornate antique desk, littered with articles for her work and many dried herbs, lay a handwritten volume of the most beautiful poetry I have ever read.
We preserved her wonderful folly as a permanent memorial to Felicity Green. Many millions of pounds in revenue have been accumulated from her scientific discoveries, and her amazing poetical works will live forever alongside, William Shakespeare and many talented writers down through the ages.
Copyright © Written by John Yeo, All rights reserved.
Picture it and Write ~ The Survivor
This is the latest "Picture it and Write" prompt from Ermilia's blog
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/07/27/picture-it-write-39
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/07/27/picture-it-write-39
The image is provided by Ermilia
THE SURVIVOR
Written by John Yeo
Hallo! This is a picture of me, I am Gallimaufry the grey. I am on my way to our store with some berries to put away for the long cold winter, when food is very scarce. I put them a hole, in the hollow of an old Oak tree, where we all live during the cold months of the year deep in the forest.
I always dream when I sleep. Last night in my dream I was a giant flying white angel squirrel, I never had to sleep as it was always sunny and we always had as much food as we could eat.
Back here in the harsh real world of the wild forest, I have to protect my store of food from roving gangs of bandit, lazy grey squirrels. These idle mobs will steal a store of food, they are far too lazy to put nuts and berries away for themselves. It is rumored that these gangs are composed mainly of half-breeds, the result of liaisons between grey and the native red squirrels. I have my doubts about this for many reasons.
The native red squirrels are getting scarce as we grey squirrels take over and displace them from the woodlands. They are very much weaker than us greys and they have a different diet than us, we can eat their food but they have difficulty digesting some of our food.
Our American cousins are known as mini-bears. We are descended from some of these mini-bears, who were brought here and released in the wild many years ago, we have been very successful in making our home here. Sadly hunters are now trying to kill some of us grey squirrels to restore the balance in the numbers between the two separate kinds of squirrel.
We are settled and happy in our little island home, we have learned to survive by squirreling away our little stores of nuts and berries, to get us through the winter.
Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved
Written by John Yeo
Hallo! This is a picture of me, I am Gallimaufry the grey. I am on my way to our store with some berries to put away for the long cold winter, when food is very scarce. I put them a hole, in the hollow of an old Oak tree, where we all live during the cold months of the year deep in the forest.
I always dream when I sleep. Last night in my dream I was a giant flying white angel squirrel, I never had to sleep as it was always sunny and we always had as much food as we could eat.
Back here in the harsh real world of the wild forest, I have to protect my store of food from roving gangs of bandit, lazy grey squirrels. These idle mobs will steal a store of food, they are far too lazy to put nuts and berries away for themselves. It is rumored that these gangs are composed mainly of half-breeds, the result of liaisons between grey and the native red squirrels. I have my doubts about this for many reasons.
The native red squirrels are getting scarce as we grey squirrels take over and displace them from the woodlands. They are very much weaker than us greys and they have a different diet than us, we can eat their food but they have difficulty digesting some of our food.
Our American cousins are known as mini-bears. We are descended from some of these mini-bears, who were brought here and released in the wild many years ago, we have been very successful in making our home here. Sadly hunters are now trying to kill some of us grey squirrels to restore the balance in the numbers between the two separate kinds of squirrel.
We are settled and happy in our little island home, we have learned to survive by squirreling away our little stores of nuts and berries, to get us through the winter.
Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved
Picture it and Write~ The Crumbling Brain
This is the latest ~”Picture it and Write” prompt from Ermilia’s blog
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/07/20/__picture-it-write-86/
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/07/20/__picture-it-write-86/
The image is provided by Ermilia
THE CRUMBLING BRAIN
by John Yeo
We have found a cure for the tragedy of dementia. The slow degeneration of the brain, crumbling , as memory leaks out. I lost all track of everything. My mind was a complete blank.
Every particle of the theory has been absorbed and reflected on, then taken to pieces and rebuilt. I lived, ate and processed the information. Every nuance and physical movement of the changes in the cerebral material has been observed and recorded by my brain cells.
I had lost all track of everything, I will now be rebuilt, my whole personality has been reconstructed piece by piece. I am now the foundation of an idea. The brain reconstruction is complete. The Alzheimer’s disease I had suffered from has now been arrested.
Written by John Yeo © All rights reserved.
THE CRUMBLING BRAIN
by John Yeo
We have found a cure for the tragedy of dementia. The slow degeneration of the brain, crumbling , as memory leaks out. I lost all track of everything. My mind was a complete blank.
Every particle of the theory has been absorbed and reflected on, then taken to pieces and rebuilt. I lived, ate and processed the information. Every nuance and physical movement of the changes in the cerebral material has been observed and recorded by my brain cells.
I had lost all track of everything, I will now be rebuilt, my whole personality has been reconstructed piece by piece. I am now the foundation of an idea. The brain reconstruction is complete. The Alzheimer’s disease I had suffered from has now been arrested.
Written by John Yeo © All rights reserved.
Picture it and Write~ BLACK AND LIGHT MIRRORED
This is the latest picture it and write prompt from Ermilia’s blog
As usual the image is provided and the credits are acknowledged by Ermilia
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/07/13/picture-it-write-37/
MIRRORED MYSTERY
My beautiful blue mirror is hung in place,
The reflection is my window behind me.
The open red curtains with a red chair to match.
I stand looking and admiring my home in the background.
As I look, the room in my mirror gets dark.
Jet black, nothing is visible, although it is still
Light, in the middle of the day.
I blink and the original view returns.
This startles me. How? Why?
The reflection is still true to life.
What could have caused my mirror to go dark?
Witches, Hobgoblins, Devils or Ghosts!
My mind goes through many twists and turns,
With supernatural reasons and answers.
Did I imagine it, or is there a Ghost,
On the other side of the glass?
Am I about to be approached
By beings from the other side?
Suddenly the mirror goes black, once again.
Black as black! Everything is black.
Then my wife Margaret is beside me.
“Are you all right? You stumbled.
I think you had a blackout!”
I look at my friendly, mirror again,
Reflecting our beautiful home.
I look and think, I love my life.
As I reflect on how lucky I am.
Copyright © Written by John Yeo. All rights reserved
As usual the image is provided and the credits are acknowledged by Ermilia
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/07/13/picture-it-write-37/
MIRRORED MYSTERY
My beautiful blue mirror is hung in place,
The reflection is my window behind me.
The open red curtains with a red chair to match.
I stand looking and admiring my home in the background.
As I look, the room in my mirror gets dark.
Jet black, nothing is visible, although it is still
Light, in the middle of the day.
I blink and the original view returns.
This startles me. How? Why?
The reflection is still true to life.
What could have caused my mirror to go dark?
Witches, Hobgoblins, Devils or Ghosts!
My mind goes through many twists and turns,
With supernatural reasons and answers.
Did I imagine it, or is there a Ghost,
On the other side of the glass?
Am I about to be approached
By beings from the other side?
Suddenly the mirror goes black, once again.
Black as black! Everything is black.
Then my wife Margaret is beside me.
“Are you all right? You stumbled.
I think you had a blackout!”
I look at my friendly, mirror again,
Reflecting our beautiful home.
I look and think, I love my life.
As I reflect on how lucky I am.
Copyright © Written by John Yeo. All rights reserved
Picture it and Write~The Reality behind a Dream
This is the latest Picture, from the picture it and write series from Ermilia’s Blog~
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/06/15/picture-it-write-35/
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/06/15/picture-it-write-35/
The Picture is credited and provided by Ermila
THE REALITY BEHIND A DREAM
By John Yeo
My Father would laugh about a very strange dream that my Mother had twenty years ago, before I was born.
My Mother insisted one day that she had been abducted by humanoid aliens. They had taken her to a gigantic flying saucer-like machine where she had been made love to by an alien and impregnated with their seed and life force. The aliens had travelled across the universe from their dying planet to implant their seed to save their race. Conditions here on Earth were alien to them and they were unlikely to survive, this was the only way. They were able to distort our timewaves and my Mother awoke in her bed at home the next morning, as if from a dream.
My Father laughed at this dream and made fun of her vivid imagination, he always said Mother was a dreamer and this is a very precious gift to have.
One year later I arrived and Mother and Father were very proud of their new daughter. I had a very happy childhood, I never lacked for anything and I was rarely ill. My parents always asked me about my dreams, Daddy laughingly wondered if I took after my Mother as a dreamer.
The at the age of twenty my features suddenly altered and this unusual growth appeared on my face. I lost the ability to speak, but I found I could read minds and I knew what people were going to say before they opened their mouths. I would actually communicate by thought transference, I found all I had to do was think to make my wishes known.
I was examined by many Doctors, Psychiatrists and Scientists, I succumbed to every known scientific test but there was no logical explanation for the black and white growth.
Then my Father suddenly remembered Mother’s very strange dream and a frission of excitement buzzed around the scientific world. I have many extra unusual abilities and there are two protrusions growing on my back as time passes. I know these are wings and I will be able to fly.
Copyright © Written by John Yeo~ All rights reserved
By John Yeo
My Father would laugh about a very strange dream that my Mother had twenty years ago, before I was born.
My Mother insisted one day that she had been abducted by humanoid aliens. They had taken her to a gigantic flying saucer-like machine where she had been made love to by an alien and impregnated with their seed and life force. The aliens had travelled across the universe from their dying planet to implant their seed to save their race. Conditions here on Earth were alien to them and they were unlikely to survive, this was the only way. They were able to distort our timewaves and my Mother awoke in her bed at home the next morning, as if from a dream.
My Father laughed at this dream and made fun of her vivid imagination, he always said Mother was a dreamer and this is a very precious gift to have.
One year later I arrived and Mother and Father were very proud of their new daughter. I had a very happy childhood, I never lacked for anything and I was rarely ill. My parents always asked me about my dreams, Daddy laughingly wondered if I took after my Mother as a dreamer.
The at the age of twenty my features suddenly altered and this unusual growth appeared on my face. I lost the ability to speak, but I found I could read minds and I knew what people were going to say before they opened their mouths. I would actually communicate by thought transference, I found all I had to do was think to make my wishes known.
I was examined by many Doctors, Psychiatrists and Scientists, I succumbed to every known scientific test but there was no logical explanation for the black and white growth.
Then my Father suddenly remembered Mother’s very strange dream and a frission of excitement buzzed around the scientific world. I have many extra unusual abilities and there are two protrusions growing on my back as time passes. I know these are wings and I will be able to fly.
Copyright © Written by John Yeo~ All rights reserved
Picture it and Write~~Electric After-Shock
This is the latest Picture, from the picture it and write series from Ermilias Blog~
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/06/08/__picture-it-write-83/
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/06/08/__picture-it-write-83/
The Picture is credited and provided by Ermila
I was working as an engineer on high power cables, strapped to a vehicle with a hoist that lifted me high into the air to enable me to reach the overhead cables. Suddenly I blacked out and I could remember nothing from that instant to this day. I was informed by my working colleagues that I had suffered a massive electric shock and I was very lucky to be alive. Indeed the doctors were proclaiming my escape from serious harm a miracle. My hand although perfectly normal to look at in daylight now glowed in a fluorescent way in the dark. Several illustrious learned men had examined my fluorescent hand and there was intense interest in my sparkling hand.
I remain here in hospital awaiting the results of countless tests. In the next bed to me is a little boy, Billy, who is dying of terminal cancer, on the other side another victim of an accident, Bob, who is conscious but not expected to live. Billy was very interested in my glowing hand, and in the gloom of a cloudy late afternoon in the ward, he asked if he could touch my hand. I said of course, but don’t tell the doctor. Billy shook hands with me and we could both see a sparkling glow travel between both our hands. Billy smiled, and said he could feel the pleasant warmth spreading throughout his body. Bob in the bed next door asked if he could try it and he also reported a strange feeling of warmth and electric power racing through his body.
The results of my tests came through and I went home. A few days later I heard that the doctors were getting praised for the miraculous cures of two patients who had not been expected to live, Billy and Bob’s faces were staring at me from the newspapers.
I contacted them both and asked them to keep our secret and I would try to use my electric aftershock without the nuisance of publicity. I now live in a remote farmhouse and travel to many places to bring my electric magic, then fade away into the background again.
I was working as an engineer on high power cables, strapped to a vehicle with a hoist that lifted me high into the air to enable me to reach the overhead cables. Suddenly I blacked out and I could remember nothing from that instant to this day. I was informed by my working colleagues that I had suffered a massive electric shock and I was very lucky to be alive. Indeed the doctors were proclaiming my escape from serious harm a miracle. My hand although perfectly normal to look at in daylight now glowed in a fluorescent way in the dark. Several illustrious learned men had examined my fluorescent hand and there was intense interest in my sparkling hand.
I remain here in hospital awaiting the results of countless tests. In the next bed to me is a little boy, Billy, who is dying of terminal cancer, on the other side another victim of an accident, Bob, who is conscious but not expected to live. Billy was very interested in my glowing hand, and in the gloom of a cloudy late afternoon in the ward, he asked if he could touch my hand. I said of course, but don’t tell the doctor. Billy shook hands with me and we could both see a sparkling glow travel between both our hands. Billy smiled, and said he could feel the pleasant warmth spreading throughout his body. Bob in the bed next door asked if he could try it and he also reported a strange feeling of warmth and electric power racing through his body.
The results of my tests came through and I went home. A few days later I heard that the doctors were getting praised for the miraculous cures of two patients who had not been expected to live, Billy and Bob’s faces were staring at me from the newspapers.
I contacted them both and asked them to keep our secret and I would try to use my electric aftershock without the nuisance of publicity. I now live in a remote farmhouse and travel to many places to bring my electric magic, then fade away into the background again.
Copyright © written by John Yeo All rights reserved.
Picture it and Write~~Smashing Justice
This is my response to the latest Picture it and Write prompt on Ermlia’s blog~
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/06/01/picture-it-write-yesallwomen/#more-6024
The image is provided thanks to Ermlia
http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2014/06/01/picture-it-write-yesallwomen/#more-6024
The image is provided thanks to Ermlia
SMASHING JUSTICE
By John Yeo
The courtroom was packed with supporters for this victim of an alleged horrendous assault. There was much to get through, reams of evidence to be presented and debated. Morals were discussed and heartfelt pleas for justice were heard from many learned people. Our highly esteemed judge was very well thought of in the city and indeed he had been the recipient of a splendid gift of a cut-glass gavel in recognition of his contribution to justice and the law. This was a very sensitive case and many people, the judges wife included, thought it should never have been brought to court. Of course the judge would never discuss the case with his wife, but she was very sensitive to his mind after 40 years of marriage. After many days of discussion and listening to much legal debate, with countless witnesses from many disciplines and areas of thought, the learned judge announced his decision. To everyone’s horror the judge pronounced the case unproven and the accused: Not Guilty! There was uproar in the courtroom, the judge raised his gavel: Order! Order in the court! There was a splintering of glass as the cut glass gavel that the learned judge’s wife had deliberately substituted, smashed into a thousand fragments. The police moved in to clear the courtroom. Justice and the system of justice had certainly been symbolically smashed today.
Copyright (c) by John Yeo~~All rights reserved
By John Yeo
The courtroom was packed with supporters for this victim of an alleged horrendous assault. There was much to get through, reams of evidence to be presented and debated. Morals were discussed and heartfelt pleas for justice were heard from many learned people. Our highly esteemed judge was very well thought of in the city and indeed he had been the recipient of a splendid gift of a cut-glass gavel in recognition of his contribution to justice and the law. This was a very sensitive case and many people, the judges wife included, thought it should never have been brought to court. Of course the judge would never discuss the case with his wife, but she was very sensitive to his mind after 40 years of marriage. After many days of discussion and listening to much legal debate, with countless witnesses from many disciplines and areas of thought, the learned judge announced his decision. To everyone’s horror the judge pronounced the case unproven and the accused: Not Guilty! There was uproar in the courtroom, the judge raised his gavel: Order! Order in the court! There was a splintering of glass as the cut glass gavel that the learned judge’s wife had deliberately substituted, smashed into a thousand fragments. The police moved in to clear the courtroom. Justice and the system of justice had certainly been symbolically smashed today.
Copyright (c) by John Yeo~~All rights reserved
Picture it and Write~~All the World's a Stag
ALL THE WORLD’S A STAG
By John Yeo
Our estate is under threat. Margaret and I have taxes to pay to the government with an enormous amount of work to be done on the upkeep of our estate, we have to think of something to generate income from all sources of revenue. The situation is dire, the roof is leaking, the heirlooms have been auctioned and we still owe money.
The folk-lore of the estate tells tales of our ancestors who tamed and rode giant stags with enormous antlers that powered through the heather. One day the estate manager and I were returning home from a night out in the local hostelery after researching the problem over various wines and other liquid nourishment. An awesome, fearsome figure loomed on the horizon, picked out in the setting of the evening sun. A giant stag with the most incredible set of antlers we had ever seen. I photographed the stag, then requisitioned a local artist to paint a set of oil paintings.
Then was born the legend of the immortal, incredible God of the stags, miracles were reported and legends spun. People flocked from far and wide to try to catch a glimpse of the Deity, who could surely make wishes come true and heal the sick. Pilgrims arrived from lands afar bringing gold and silver as offerings to the Deity. We used these generous offerings to reconstruct the estate and to build a temple to receive more visitors as our personal miracle continued.
Then one sad day, reality arrived to shatter the illusions in the shape of our artist bearing and sharing the original photograph.
We still have our visitors and believers!
Copyright (c) by John Yeo~~All rights reserved
By John Yeo
Our estate is under threat. Margaret and I have taxes to pay to the government with an enormous amount of work to be done on the upkeep of our estate, we have to think of something to generate income from all sources of revenue. The situation is dire, the roof is leaking, the heirlooms have been auctioned and we still owe money.
The folk-lore of the estate tells tales of our ancestors who tamed and rode giant stags with enormous antlers that powered through the heather. One day the estate manager and I were returning home from a night out in the local hostelery after researching the problem over various wines and other liquid nourishment. An awesome, fearsome figure loomed on the horizon, picked out in the setting of the evening sun. A giant stag with the most incredible set of antlers we had ever seen. I photographed the stag, then requisitioned a local artist to paint a set of oil paintings.
Then was born the legend of the immortal, incredible God of the stags, miracles were reported and legends spun. People flocked from far and wide to try to catch a glimpse of the Deity, who could surely make wishes come true and heal the sick. Pilgrims arrived from lands afar bringing gold and silver as offerings to the Deity. We used these generous offerings to reconstruct the estate and to build a temple to receive more visitors as our personal miracle continued.
Then one sad day, reality arrived to shatter the illusions in the shape of our artist bearing and sharing the original photograph.
We still have our visitors and believers!
Copyright (c) by John Yeo~~All rights reserved
THE ORCHARD
Assignment
Writing Project – with generic ingredients – examples
Write a poem or story to include, at least one of, each of the following:
§ something round
§ something sharp
§ something very big, tall or long
§ something very small
§ something soft or sweet
§ something sour or hard
§ something smooth or rough
§ some sort of small or large box
§ some sort of vehicle or craft
§ a face
§ someone’s voice or a noise
§ a name
§ an atmosphere or smell
§ description of a time of day or weather
The Orchard
Spring, the sun is shining, the apple trees are full of pink blossom weighing heavily from the uppermost branches. I enter this old fashioned orchard of very tall aged apple trees with gnarled and wrinkled trunks. The ground beneath the trees is carpeted with tiny blue flowers with a very strong aroma, a smell that lingers in the nostrils as potent as the most exotic perfume from the East. The blue of these tiny blue flowery jewels is mingled with the soft pink petals that have dropped from the branches of the trees, creating an artistic carpet.
A green tractor with a large box trailer arrives, the driver, a tall man with a high jutting forehead over a pair of very bushy eyebrows is seated in the driving seat. There is another man seated on the box trailer, a younger version, they are obviously brothers.
“G’Day”, is the friendly greeting from the driver of the tractor, this is spoken in a very broad Australian accent although we are here in Kent, reputed to be the garden of England. “Good morning”, I reply with a smile. “I hope I am not trespassing, I was overcome by the beauty of your orchard, I am looking for work and I just wandered through the gate”. “Climb aboard, it is almost noon and time for lunch, join us for some grub, we are looking for an able bodied person to help around here. I’m Bruce, and this is my brother Bob”. I accepted the invitation with thanks and we took a ride to the farmhouse along a very pretty track. A jolly, smiling farmer's wife came to the farmhouse door wearing an orange apron, flour stained from baking. "This is my wife Sheila", declared Bruce, by way of an introduction. “Sheila we have another guest for lunch, this is John”. I was then introduced to Bob's wife Mary, also very homely looking, friendly and welcoming.
I was overwhelmed by the generous hospitality of my hosts. After an excellent lunch, where I realised I was being very closely questioned and assessed, I was accepted and shown to a very long low building attached to the apple store, where I would work.
There was a damp dark atmosphere within the store. The apples were packed in rows and rows of boxes on rough wooden shelves, there was a powerful smell of apples from the juices that ran from the decaying fruit in some of these boxes. One shelf was stacked with cartons of sweet red and green eating apples individually wrapped to stem the tiny spores that spread this decay.
There was a shelf full of cartons of round, hard, bright green cooking apples with a very sharp flavour and a slightly sour taste.
My job would be to completely rearrange this store and dispose of the decaying fruit. I would also help with the pruning and nurturing of the apple trees with the set of very sharp tools provided by Bruce. I would stay in the workers quarters.
I accepted the offer instantly, little realising the implications and the very strange turn of events in the story that would unfold in the next chapter of my life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~[To be continued ] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A green tractor with a large box trailer arrives, the driver, a tall man with a high jutting forehead over a pair of very bushy eyebrows is seated in the driving seat. There is another man seated on the box trailer, a younger version, they are obviously brothers.
“G’Day”, is the friendly greeting from the driver of the tractor, this is spoken in a very broad Australian accent although we are here in Kent, reputed to be the garden of England. “Good morning”, I reply with a smile. “I hope I am not trespassing, I was overcome by the beauty of your orchard, I am looking for work and I just wandered through the gate”. “Climb aboard, it is almost noon and time for lunch, join us for some grub, we are looking for an able bodied person to help around here. I’m Bruce, and this is my brother Bob”. I accepted the invitation with thanks and we took a ride to the farmhouse along a very pretty track. A jolly, smiling farmer's wife came to the farmhouse door wearing an orange apron, flour stained from baking. "This is my wife Sheila", declared Bruce, by way of an introduction. “Sheila we have another guest for lunch, this is John”. I was then introduced to Bob's wife Mary, also very homely looking, friendly and welcoming.
I was overwhelmed by the generous hospitality of my hosts. After an excellent lunch, where I realised I was being very closely questioned and assessed, I was accepted and shown to a very long low building attached to the apple store, where I would work.
There was a damp dark atmosphere within the store. The apples were packed in rows and rows of boxes on rough wooden shelves, there was a powerful smell of apples from the juices that ran from the decaying fruit in some of these boxes. One shelf was stacked with cartons of sweet red and green eating apples individually wrapped to stem the tiny spores that spread this decay.
There was a shelf full of cartons of round, hard, bright green cooking apples with a very sharp flavour and a slightly sour taste.
My job would be to completely rearrange this store and dispose of the decaying fruit. I would also help with the pruning and nurturing of the apple trees with the set of very sharp tools provided by Bruce. I would stay in the workers quarters.
I accepted the offer instantly, little realising the implications and the very strange turn of events in the story that would unfold in the next chapter of my life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~[To be continued ] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright by John Yeo © 29/04/2013 All rights reserved.
A rewrite and a chop by my friend Amanda 10th june 2013
Hi John
This is your poem after I've given it the choppity chop! Hope you find it interesting. I liked the essence which was being allowed to enter another world for a while. The good life.
Maybe it could be chopped more who knows? But it was a good exercise thanks for not minding.
Regards
Amanda
The Orchard
Spring.
The sun is shining.
Apple trees full of pink blossom.
Without thinking
I enter an ancient orchard with trees gnarled and wrinkled.
Walk though a myriad of tiny blue flowers; aromatic, hypnotic.
Perfume lingering in my nostrils and in my brain.
Potent as the most expensive scent from the East.
Soft pink petals intersperse the blue, creating an exotic carpet under my feet.
I'm disturbed by a noisy green tractor.
The driver, tall with bushy eyebrows.
Another man is seated on the box trailer behind, a younger version, brothers I think.
Friendly greeting from the driver
I feel relief, I'm not trespassing. Not in his eyes.
He seems to understand that overcome by the beauty, I just wandered through the gate.
It's time for lunch.
I 'm offered an invitation.
Walking along a grassy track, we can talk like old friends.
Into a dusty farmyard busy with chattering fowl foraging.
Farming paraphernalia form part of the scenery, not lately moved.
I'm distracted.
A woman comes to the farmhouse door, wearing an orange apron, flour stained from baking.
Generous, hospitable, welcoming.
Food fresh and homely.
Hosts Interested, Interesting.
I want to work, repay, replenish.
I'm accepted and shown to a long low building.
The apple store, damp and dark.
Apples packed in rows never touching on rough wooden shelves.
The powerful odour of fruit starting to decay.
So many apples of every size and colour.
What a feast for my eyes.
My mouth waters imagining flavour.
Hard, green cooking apples, sharp and sour.
Red, withered, eaters, no longer prime, will feel floury in the mouth.
My job, to dispose of the decaying fruit.
The waste? I cannot bear. But no these rejects are still prized for swill.
Sweet fat pigs ripening in the fields for bacon.
What a life. What a day. What a story.
What a welcome, what a privilege
Reworked by Amanda
This is your poem after I've given it the choppity chop! Hope you find it interesting. I liked the essence which was being allowed to enter another world for a while. The good life.
Maybe it could be chopped more who knows? But it was a good exercise thanks for not minding.
Regards
Amanda
The Orchard
Spring.
The sun is shining.
Apple trees full of pink blossom.
Without thinking
I enter an ancient orchard with trees gnarled and wrinkled.
Walk though a myriad of tiny blue flowers; aromatic, hypnotic.
Perfume lingering in my nostrils and in my brain.
Potent as the most expensive scent from the East.
Soft pink petals intersperse the blue, creating an exotic carpet under my feet.
I'm disturbed by a noisy green tractor.
The driver, tall with bushy eyebrows.
Another man is seated on the box trailer behind, a younger version, brothers I think.
Friendly greeting from the driver
I feel relief, I'm not trespassing. Not in his eyes.
He seems to understand that overcome by the beauty, I just wandered through the gate.
It's time for lunch.
I 'm offered an invitation.
Walking along a grassy track, we can talk like old friends.
Into a dusty farmyard busy with chattering fowl foraging.
Farming paraphernalia form part of the scenery, not lately moved.
I'm distracted.
A woman comes to the farmhouse door, wearing an orange apron, flour stained from baking.
Generous, hospitable, welcoming.
Food fresh and homely.
Hosts Interested, Interesting.
I want to work, repay, replenish.
I'm accepted and shown to a long low building.
The apple store, damp and dark.
Apples packed in rows never touching on rough wooden shelves.
The powerful odour of fruit starting to decay.
So many apples of every size and colour.
What a feast for my eyes.
My mouth waters imagining flavour.
Hard, green cooking apples, sharp and sour.
Red, withered, eaters, no longer prime, will feel floury in the mouth.
My job, to dispose of the decaying fruit.
The waste? I cannot bear. But no these rejects are still prized for swill.
Sweet fat pigs ripening in the fields for bacon.
What a life. What a day. What a story.
What a welcome, what a privilege
Reworked by Amanda
Copyright by John Yeo © 29/04/2013 All rights reserved.
I FEEL~~ I LIKE ~~ YOU LIKE ~~ I FEEL
I LIKE
“I like”, five letters that can mean so much to a presentation. The idea is there, the thought is hatched, the work is put in, and the presentation is produced and presented.
LIKE ~~ COMMENT ~~ SHARE.
“Like” is a new concept developed from, and is part of the incredible surge and the success of the popular social media sites. It is a way of appreciating the work of another person and being seen to appreciate the work of another person, by all of one's friends and their friends in turn. Please like my post, by liking my post, I will appreciate the fact that you are a special type of person who is appreciative of the same sort of areas of interests that I also appreciate. Social networks are a way to learn from and about, many people that one would be unlikely to encounter in their normal daily lives.
A LIKEABLE SONNET
I WOULD LIKE TO BE YOUR FRIEND.
I LIKE YOUR POSTS, PLEASE LIKE MY POST
I LIKE YOUR WORK, PLEASE LIKE MY WORK
I LIKE YOUR PHOTOGRAPHS, PLEASE LIKE MINE
I LIKE YOUR ESSAY, PLEASE LIKE MY ESSAY
I LIKE YOUR LIKES, THEY COULD BE OUR LIKES
I LIKE EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU.
PLEASE LIKE ME AND LIKE MY PAGE
I LIKE YOU AND I LIKE YOUR PAGE,
I LIKE THE POSTS AND LIKES, YOU LIKE
WE LIKE A LOT IN COMMON.
WE COULD SHARE A LOT OF LIKES
PLEASE LIKE ME LIKING YOUR LIKES,
PLEASE LIKE ME AND BE MY FRIEND.
“I like” can say a very great deal about a person’s interests and political and social leanings. Liking a person or a concept can go a long way to revealing what is happening your own personal life and in what direction your inner thoughts are travelling.
“I like” is a tick in a box that can be unthinkingly ticked, to forever associate you with something.
“I like” a camera, can produce a flood of camera advertisements on the side of your page.
“I like” holidays in Spain, can suddenly associate one with all manner of people who own and rent out apartments and chalets in Spain.
This is the magic in action of how our “free” use of the social media is anything but free. Social media marketing in action.
The “I like” button can generate a real warmth of interest and friendly acceptance from others who have actually taken some time to show some interest in YOU. Who you are, and what you are interested in. Even if the object of their “like” is a poem, essay or photograph that was produced by someone else, thousands of miles away, and has been shared over and over again. The fact that a friend likes this post denotes that they like the same things you like, and you share that like in common.
This can lead to a lethal mix; sharing our vulnerability to others by revealing the fears, weaknesses, interests and desires we all harbour.
My advice is to think very carefully and logically before ticking the “like” box.
Elementary Mr. Spock.
For all that my many social media friends, I really “LIKE” YOU ALL.
Where would I be without you Margaret.
“I like”, five letters that can mean so much to a presentation. The idea is there, the thought is hatched, the work is put in, and the presentation is produced and presented.
LIKE ~~ COMMENT ~~ SHARE.
“Like” is a new concept developed from, and is part of the incredible surge and the success of the popular social media sites. It is a way of appreciating the work of another person and being seen to appreciate the work of another person, by all of one's friends and their friends in turn. Please like my post, by liking my post, I will appreciate the fact that you are a special type of person who is appreciative of the same sort of areas of interests that I also appreciate. Social networks are a way to learn from and about, many people that one would be unlikely to encounter in their normal daily lives.
A LIKEABLE SONNET
I WOULD LIKE TO BE YOUR FRIEND.
I LIKE YOUR POSTS, PLEASE LIKE MY POST
I LIKE YOUR WORK, PLEASE LIKE MY WORK
I LIKE YOUR PHOTOGRAPHS, PLEASE LIKE MINE
I LIKE YOUR ESSAY, PLEASE LIKE MY ESSAY
I LIKE YOUR LIKES, THEY COULD BE OUR LIKES
I LIKE EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU.
PLEASE LIKE ME AND LIKE MY PAGE
I LIKE YOU AND I LIKE YOUR PAGE,
I LIKE THE POSTS AND LIKES, YOU LIKE
WE LIKE A LOT IN COMMON.
WE COULD SHARE A LOT OF LIKES
PLEASE LIKE ME LIKING YOUR LIKES,
PLEASE LIKE ME AND BE MY FRIEND.
“I like” can say a very great deal about a person’s interests and political and social leanings. Liking a person or a concept can go a long way to revealing what is happening your own personal life and in what direction your inner thoughts are travelling.
“I like” is a tick in a box that can be unthinkingly ticked, to forever associate you with something.
“I like” a camera, can produce a flood of camera advertisements on the side of your page.
“I like” holidays in Spain, can suddenly associate one with all manner of people who own and rent out apartments and chalets in Spain.
This is the magic in action of how our “free” use of the social media is anything but free. Social media marketing in action.
The “I like” button can generate a real warmth of interest and friendly acceptance from others who have actually taken some time to show some interest in YOU. Who you are, and what you are interested in. Even if the object of their “like” is a poem, essay or photograph that was produced by someone else, thousands of miles away, and has been shared over and over again. The fact that a friend likes this post denotes that they like the same things you like, and you share that like in common.
This can lead to a lethal mix; sharing our vulnerability to others by revealing the fears, weaknesses, interests and desires we all harbour.
My advice is to think very carefully and logically before ticking the “like” box.
Elementary Mr. Spock.
For all that my many social media friends, I really “LIKE” YOU ALL.
Where would I be without you Margaret.
Copyright John Yeo© 22/03/2013 All rights reserved.
Photographs from the web.
Photographs from the web.
FLASH FICTION 500
Saturday, 9 March 2013
Writing challenge! Write a flash fiction (500 words or less) that begins with this sentence:
Everything went wrong that night.
Writing challenge! Write a flash fiction (500 words or less) that begins with this sentence:
Everything went wrong that night.
Everything went wrong that night.
It was the night that was to be really special, a night of celebration, a night to remember. A night that was to begin with fireworks and end in a nuclear explosion of love and togetherness. The plans had been very well thought through and preparations made for the most memorable fantastic enjoyable experience we had ever had together. The flowers were delivered, the wine was on ice, the restaurant had been booked well in advance and the car engine was running and purring in well oiled motion. My hair had been trimmed, shaped and styled by my favourite hairdresser and I was wearing an extra smart outfit.
Then the sky suddenly darkened and it started to rain, not just a slight shower that would lead me to begin to romantically sing in the rain, but an almighty shower with a deluge of huge soaking unpleasant raindrops. Then there was an ominous low rumble that turned into a crash of thunder, electricity lit up the sky in the shape of lightning. This was not the electricity I had planned to generate tonight. The storm was an explosive huge display of power, not the explosive power and fireworks that I had planned and wished for, but an incredible display of a force to be reckoned with. Suddenly there was an almighty crash outside my front door, I looked through the window to see that my much loved beautiful old elm tree outside in the front garden had been ripped out from the ground by the storm and was now resting on my beautiful car. Horror-stuck I made a grab for the telephone only to discover that the storm had brought down the power lines and the telephone was not working. I then heard a terrible screeching coming from the yard and realised that my lovely persian cat Smithy was nowhere to be seen. I rushed out into the eye of the storm wearing my smart outfit and found Smithy trapped under some metal, I quickly grabbed him and rushed back inside, drenched. Poor Smithy was trembling with the cold and fear, my well coiffured hair was a mess, blown to smithereens by the power of the wind. I wanted to get a message to you but I realised even smoke signals would not work today. The beautiful bouquet of very expensive and heavenly flowers I had purchased for you had been trodden in the mud while I was rescuing Smithy.
Then there was the sound of a huge explosion as the gas boiler suddenly exploded in a sheet of flame, I grabbed Smithy under my arm and rushed out into the night to make good my escape from the burning house. I then suddenly realised that I had no car to get away in, and I just kept running for my life. I found, as I battled my way through the storm at the end of the garden, a stone pig sty, and crawled in there and curled up and went to sleep for the rest of the night.
It was the night that was to be really special, a night of celebration, a night to remember. A night that was to begin with fireworks and end in a nuclear explosion of love and togetherness. The plans had been very well thought through and preparations made for the most memorable fantastic enjoyable experience we had ever had together. The flowers were delivered, the wine was on ice, the restaurant had been booked well in advance and the car engine was running and purring in well oiled motion. My hair had been trimmed, shaped and styled by my favourite hairdresser and I was wearing an extra smart outfit.
Then the sky suddenly darkened and it started to rain, not just a slight shower that would lead me to begin to romantically sing in the rain, but an almighty shower with a deluge of huge soaking unpleasant raindrops. Then there was an ominous low rumble that turned into a crash of thunder, electricity lit up the sky in the shape of lightning. This was not the electricity I had planned to generate tonight. The storm was an explosive huge display of power, not the explosive power and fireworks that I had planned and wished for, but an incredible display of a force to be reckoned with. Suddenly there was an almighty crash outside my front door, I looked through the window to see that my much loved beautiful old elm tree outside in the front garden had been ripped out from the ground by the storm and was now resting on my beautiful car. Horror-stuck I made a grab for the telephone only to discover that the storm had brought down the power lines and the telephone was not working. I then heard a terrible screeching coming from the yard and realised that my lovely persian cat Smithy was nowhere to be seen. I rushed out into the eye of the storm wearing my smart outfit and found Smithy trapped under some metal, I quickly grabbed him and rushed back inside, drenched. Poor Smithy was trembling with the cold and fear, my well coiffured hair was a mess, blown to smithereens by the power of the wind. I wanted to get a message to you but I realised even smoke signals would not work today. The beautiful bouquet of very expensive and heavenly flowers I had purchased for you had been trodden in the mud while I was rescuing Smithy.
Then there was the sound of a huge explosion as the gas boiler suddenly exploded in a sheet of flame, I grabbed Smithy under my arm and rushed out into the night to make good my escape from the burning house. I then suddenly realised that I had no car to get away in, and I just kept running for my life. I found, as I battled my way through the storm at the end of the garden, a stone pig sty, and crawled in there and curled up and went to sleep for the rest of the night.
Copyright John Yeo© 13/03/2013 All rights reserved.
Photographs from the web
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Photographs from the web
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CHARLES DICKENS, I PRESUME~~
The next assignment, should you choose to accept this task, is copied in below,
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING (with a real or fictional character, dead or alive) IN AN UNUSUAL or UNEXPECTED PLACE
WHO will you decide to meet and where?
Try to include telling details and facts, that anchor your who in time and space (where and when), and reveal what, why and how, then or now.
Your final piece can take the form of a poem, a story or prose.
12th. February 2013
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AN UNEXPECTED MEETING (with a real or fictional character, dead or alive) IN AN UNUSUAL or UNEXPECTED PLACE
WHO will you decide to meet and where?
Try to include telling details and facts, that anchor your who in time and space (where and when), and reveal what, why and how, then or now.
Your final piece can take the form of a poem, a story or prose.
12th. February 2013
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A Meeting in the forest
So my assignment was to describe a meeting with any famous character from History and describe the circumstances in poetry prose or an essay.
I have decided to set up a meeting with Charles Dickens in the Australian outback
There is no record of Charles Dickens ever visiting Australia but I thought it might be rather fun to transport him there magically and meet up with him on a trail in the bush.
I have decided to set up a meeting with Charles Dickens in the Australian outback
There is no record of Charles Dickens ever visiting Australia but I thought it might be rather fun to transport him there magically and meet up with him on a trail in the bush.
I was following a trail in the dense forest, having landed that morning in Botany Bay. The vegetation was very dense, I was following a very thin track through a forest of very unfamiliar trees plants and strange vegetation. My ears were assailed, bombarded by a cacophony of sound from the resident bird and animal life. I could hear a very strange ticking and clicking sound all around me, as if I was hearing a conversation in an alien language, but I could not see anything in the dense tree canopy that could be remotely capable of producing this. The air felt very damp with water dripping from the trees in the overhead canopy, there was a sudden screech and a flash of colour as a pair of exotic birds flew from one tree to another. I carried on along the winding track, my thoughts were interrupted with many crashes and noises from around my path obviously made by nervous animals and the resident bird life disturbed by the presence of an unknown, unfamiliar entity.
Australia, a land of many contrasts, that is full of the golden opportunities that could be engendered and nurtured by the influx of new blood in the shape of the driving force of colonists. My train of thought meandered along these lines as I continued on my way, then a man's shape appeared on the track ahead. A very tall imposing figure of a man, or he seemed very tall, as he was wearing a very tall black top-hat.
"Hail and well met my good fellow ," he called in a very soft cultured tone of voice. I responded appropriately, although I was somewhat surprised to have encountered a well dressed man, wearing a frock coat and such a hat in the middle of the Australian rain forest. "Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?", he enquired. Although I was still in a state of shock and bewilderment, I replied with the one word, John. “ Delighted to make your acquaintance John, my name is Charles, I am on a very brief visit to this wonderful land of opportunity to explore and report. I have two sons living here and I also want to do some research for my writing.”
At this point we were interrupted as a pair of rain forest kangaroos hopped or to be precise jumped across the trail in front of us. We were both startled as these alien creatures were like nothing known to us before. The bird life high in the forest canopy screeching and whistling to one another almost deafened our conversation requiring us to converse quite loudly thus attracting the attention of every creature in the vicinity.
Charles continued, “I have lately just arrived in this beautiful land of opportunity from the ship that lies at anchor in Botany Bay, I have travelled from London. I would like to explore the prospects for the relocation of our numerous poor and malnourished children from the slums there, to this very fertile and fruitful environment.”
He expounded eloquently for several minutes on this subject which was obviously very close to his heart. He then turned his attention to the very wealthy philanthropists who supported and attended to charitable causes far away from where they lived, yet totally ignored those desperately in need at home. I then came to the obviously humorous, erroneous conclusion that my mysterious acquaintance, was of the opinion that if the needy were transported to the colonies, then they also would benefit from this long distance largesse. Then as the trail we were following became overgrown and dense, with the surrounding plants and vegetation encroaching on our progress, we encountered a group of settlers that had arrived some time earlier. Charles and I exchanged greetings with them and we were informed that there were some escaped convicts loose and to be wary as we progressed through the bush as the natives could be quite unfriendly. We managed to buy some artifacts from these people which we could use as bribes for the native aborigines if we had any trouble.
Charles and the settler leader were in very close conversation about the positives and the negative downside to penniless unskilled poor people emigrating to Australia with just the clothes they stood up in. This man was also curious about my new found acquaintance and pointed out that a very golden over exaggerated and untrue picture was often painted about this new land, to the prospective emigrants back home. The English middle classes indulged themselves with this paradisiacal picture of a land of golden opportunities. The reality is that emigration to Australia can be a terrible, but also a very hopeful but hard experience. This new land is a place of deserts and forests where everything can sadly go unbearably wrong, but this land is certainly a place where the hopeless, helpless, downtrodden can find a new start and a new life, Some settlers make good but many fail and sadly have no funds or resources to escape a dismal fate.
This very astute leader of men, then turned to Charles and with a smile that was as wide as the gulf between conditions in England and life in Australia, shook his hand warmly and said, Charles Dickens I presume, I am acquainted with your two sons. They both then joined the other party in the Australian forest and disappeared into the depths of the rainforest.
I woke up in the clean white sheets of my bed here in London, England vividly remembering this very odd but memorable dream.
Copyright John Yeo© 13/03/2013 All rights reserved.
Photo of Charles Dickens from the web.
Photo of Charles Dickens from the web.
AN INSIGNIFICANT LEGACY
My magical accessory is something that has been in my possession now for over ten years, it is a highly insignificant item, 3” in length. I carry it in a little leather pouch that lives on my main keyring, and travels to and from my allotment, and is there with me in my garden at home, when I am working. It goes under the assumed name of a pruning knife but it has so many other uses from opening up stubborn lids, removing stones from my shoes, It has even masqueraded as a screwdriver. My tiny utility pruner is quite blunt and struggles to do much pruning, but I would not be without it, as the history of how it came into my possession will reveal.
They were the perfect couple were Jack and Lil. When they met and got married both were in the latter stages of life. Travelling separate roads, overcoming the troubles and strife thrown in their path by fate.
Picture a flat hat, one man and his dog. A house painter by trade, travelling away to work, back in the evening for a pint in the club. A solitary life, a firm bachelor, everyone thought. This was Jack, a love of life and the natural world, as steady as a rock.
Picture a Mother, who through thick and thin did her best for her four sons, and held down a job. Made friends in the community, work friends and more. Loved sewing and working, never a complaint, happy with her lot. One by one her sons left her protection, left the support she had given, through the inevitable scrapes of life and growing up.
Then on a night out with work friends she spied, a flat hat and a friendly grin and much more beside. More meetings and nights out, a courtship developed, two lives entwining closer together.
Marriage soon followed, with both families blessing, a move to a village to make a new start. Jack following a dream that was close to his heart became a gardener. Lil also worked to make ends meet. Years of happy contentment then drifted by, as in the community they slowly blended. They were welcomed by neighbours, accepted and firmly befriended. Retirement preceded a house move again, to a brand new cottage just down the lane. More contentment together with ups and downs, as the seasons passed, and the years rolled around. Then after a long illness, Lil passed away, a spell in hospital brought a very sad day. Jack was devastated, suddenly alone, Lil his life partner and best friend was gone.
Devastation for Jack, as his life changed completely, suddenly alone he looked to the neighbours for help and support at this difficult time. With friends to help, he slowly adjusted, walking on the common with Jamie, his four-legged friend. Jack took part-time jobs, and helped with the gardens, of neighbours and friends he met in the local pub. Gently looked after by family, and friends from the pub, who occasionally donated fish and fowl from their sport. Jack immersed himself in the natural world, bird life and the garden. Plants and animals became close to his heart. Life changed again, as Jack became poorly, then Jamie his trusted four-legged friend passed away.
I lived in London in a flat in the city, driving to the village to visit Jack now and then. In my youth I had developed a love of gardening and plant life, which had been sidelined for years filled with work at the office, and raising a family. I got in the habit of working in Jack’s garden and on the allotment with his expert advice, once a week. We spent many hours, working together, I enjoyed the experience and the feeling of the pleasure of gardening with Jack. We bought plants together, we discussed many things, we both developed a rare gardening friendship for a couple of years.
Then very sadly the inevitable happened and Jack passed on, leaving much sadness and memories behind. My valued inheritance, to remember him by, was an innocuous tiny pruning knife, that had belonged to him. I carry this whenever I am gardening.
This little knife represents a huge key that helped to open a wonderful door to many pleasurable gardening years. Whenever I use it I remember Jack and Lil and that very valuable time I spent helping Jack with his garden.
Copyright John Yeo© 25/01/2013
- A large house, with many rooms painted with green and cream paint. The floors are highly polished to almost a glittering shine. The ceilings are high and there are endless corridors snaking in different directions. Large windows from floor to ceiling look out over a well designed forecourt, bordered with flower beds, that are in bloom through Spring and Summer. There is a large lawn and fields spreading into the distance.
My brother and I had been brought here to take our places at this, alien to us, place of residence and learning. We were both very young and visibly in a state of shock. The visibility taking the form of damp cheeks and clasping each others hands. We were greeted by several strange smiling faces and cheery soft spoken words of welcome. We were then given a mug of tea each, accompanied by biscuits and more words of encouragement.
Pretty soon, dry-eyed and full of our new surroundings, a feeling of excitement began to emerge as we began to explore our new environment and were introduced to our fellow boarders. The dormitories consisted of about twenty cast iron metal beds, with a green metal locker next to each bed. This locker was a contradiction in terms, as they were unable to be locked by their owners, but were considered strictly private, and this consideration was honoured by all.
The school was split into "houses", and my brother and I were split up into separate houses, reflecting the difference in our ages. This was not as earth-shattering as it might have been, as we both soon made many new friends, and headed off on our different paths. We were always on hand for each other, keeping each other out of the general scrapes and the mistakes that we inevitably made during our transition into our new life.
The dining room was a large area that consisted of many wooden tables and chairs in lines, with a top table for the house masters and the elite. Each table catered for about twenty pupils, with a monitor in charge to ensure reasonable calm for the thrice daily gastronomic feasts that were served. Meals were served at strictly observed times and our first encounter with school life was the evening meal on our first day, where we were introduced to many new friends.
- The school was set in the wide expansive farming countryside of Sussex, with a small village community in the vicinity. We had extensive grounds with a large playing field at the rear of the main school building. This area was used for school sports, including football, cricket and athletic events on the school sports days. We were also let loose here to generally let off steam in between classes and in the evenings before supper.
- Our first day, I remember being woken to a babble of sound from my fellow occupants of our dormitory. I was quickly informed of the essential routine of making my bed and generally tidying my belongings into the locker, by my new found friend in the bed next door. We then set off to assembly and morning prayers, which were usually held in the school hall, or if the weather permitted, on the school parade ground. This was followed by breakfast served in the dining room, a meal that always included a thick gooey substance, ladled from a large tureen, masquerading under the name of porridge. There were alternatives of cereal and eggs, with thick doorsteps of white bread and marmalade. For some unfathomable reason, I have never eaten porridge since my school-days.
- My brother and I, then went our separate ways to our respective classes. The first impressions I remember, on entering the classroom I was assigned to, where the wooden desks and chairs, which were lined in rows before the teachers impressively much larger desk. There was a large blackboard set up on an easel, with sticks of chalk, ready to illustrate the wealth of knowledge, that would shortly be imparted to the assembly of enquiring minds. The fresh smell of the polish and chalk dust of that classroom would remain with me for the rest of my days. My personal wooden desk was illustrated with the carved and scratched initials of many of the previous students, who in the inevitable long periods of classic boredom, had made their personal mark on the world, behind the teachers back. The register would be solemnly called, and the learning process would begin.
- This is where I was introduced to and inculcated into the world of books, I avidly read everything in sight, I would read morning, afternoon and at night sometimes under the bedclothes, after lights-out with the aid of a torch. I learned to lose myself in the minds of the authors, and sail off on mental trips in the imagination and flights of fantastical adventure.
Copyright John Yeo© 05/01/2012
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