Author Archives: swanseawriters

Never Give Up Hope

Posted on by under 2021, November 2021 - Never give up hope

As the children tumbled onto the coach chattering to each other, boys headed to the rear, jostling each other for the best seats. Off on a school trip to a zoo, most had never been before, each wanting to see the large animals they had only seen in books.

Singing all the way hymns and nursery rhymes, what a day it turned out to be. Billy and the boys had to stay with Mr. Jenkins, the headmaster, mouths agog at the size of the bears, and the temple monkeys racing around. Riding on the elephant, pretending to be hunting lions, what great fun; so too taking rides on the camels, for the younger children.

Lunch was on the lawn at the centre of the zoo, then off again to see the lions

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Hopeless

Posted on by under 2021, November 2021 - Never give up hope

“I’m not giving up Hope!” Liz screamed into the phone at her ex-husband, before slamming it down.

Floods of tears drenched her face.  She slowly lifted herself up off the floor, his words ringing in her ears. “Unfit mother, child neglect, no prospects.”  How could he have said those things?  He hadn’t had been that interested in Hope when he lived with them, why would he suddenly want custody?

After she had calmed down, she tried to reason it out.  He’d never spent much time with them when he was at home. She doubted if he had even had the slightest idea of when Hope’s birthday was. He’d missed the fact that his daughter was besotted with him.  It just didn’t make any sense.

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Career Change

Posted on by under 2021, November 2021 - Never give up hope

The three hopeful finalists sat in the front row, -a young woman wringing her hands, a guy with pronounced musculature escaping a skinny vest and the staid, 50-something, balding Phil. They had been informed the elimination exercise would follow briefing presentations.

Phil surveyed the cavernous, somehow claustrophobic lecture hall. Wood panelled ceiling and walls reminded him of horror films that in an earlier career-phase he had scoured, researching replicable facial expressions to convey being entombed alive.

Work opportunities as a character actor were becoming sporadic; it was the right time to diversify, to move on. The once familiar minimalist sets of The Grand, – a laden bookcase stage right. a chair centre stage, French Doors with greenery and birdsong stage left, were distant memories since the Catastrophe. How he missed the multiple curtain-calls, the whooping and whistling of an appreciative audience, the after-play drinkies with sound and lighting crews, the informal advice sessions to aspiring drama school students!  Commercial Crisis Acting had never been on the radar but what could he do? The mortgage had to be paid, and in order of priority, the dog, 3 children and a wife fed and clothed. That ranking was correct. Phil prided himself in being particularly self- aware.

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Better to travel hopefully…

Posted on by under 2021, November 2021 - Never give up hope

In the olden days, libraries were quiet places policed by tut tutting librarians with long-distance, laser stares. These days Gwen (who is researching images of disability in nineteenth century fiction) is able to create her own biblio-oasis merely by removing her hearing aids and descending to tranquil and solitary pools of silence. It’s a gift, one of few afforded to those with partial hearing.

A similarly gifted woman, Suzanne, sits nearby (researching the interface of technology and the partially hearing, and currently scouring disability studies journals for references). Time for a coffee. Suzanne engages her chunky NHS hearing aids and makes for the exit noticing, en route, the similar artefacts of hearing loss lying idle on Gwen’s table.

A kindred spirit, perhaps? Suzanne gently taps Gwen’s shoulder, points to her own ears and to Gwen’s idle machines. Then the international sign language for ‘fancy a drink?’

Seated behind their large cappuccinos, the topic of deafness is an obvious starter. Both are considered moderately to severely hearing impaired, (although neither embraces the term impaired, preferring the Disability Rights position that it is society that does the disabling and impairing).

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For Sale

Posted on by under 2021, November 2021 - Never give up hope

The wind hurried through the village as if on its way to somewhere more important. It blew sand over the squatting men and silent women. The lane, where children peeked at the visitors, was of sand. The buildings were of sandstone. The distant mountains seemed to be towers of sand.

            A woman holding a baby approached them. Despair was the lonely inhabitant of her eyes, misery the permanent resident in her exhausted face. She might have been any age between fifteen and fifty. She said something to them.

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The Trouble With Hope

Posted on by under 2021, November 2021 - Never give up hope

Hope Appleton has a mind of her own. There’s nothing remarkable about that sentence, until I tell you that Hope is a character in the novel I’m writing.

You could say I only have myself to blame. In a way, you’d be right. But in my defence, you should always create well-rounded, authentic characters with clear motivations. I’ve certainly achieved that.

My agent isn’t very sympathetic to my plight. You see, the deadline for delivering this manuscript has been and gone. Twice. If this novel is not on her desk by Monday, my contract, and therefore my career, is over.

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I Spy

Posted on by under 2021, October 2021 - The Mission

Billy Thomas and gang set out their new mission – their eyes lit up – to catch a spy. Now that was exciting. Billy had twice seen the foreign man who had moved into a house on the edge of the village passing a rolled-up newspaper to a shifty little man. Once he’d seen the shifty man hand him money 

A rota was set up. Huw Parry would watch in the morning as his parents went to work early. Billy would watch after school till teatime. Gwyn Griffiths would then take over, as his parents went to the club most nights and his brother let him go where he wanted. Huw Parry had an army uniform they could share to hide in the woods. Gwyn Griffiths borrowed his da’s binoculars to keep watch.

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Midnight

Posted on by under 2021, October 2021 - The Mission

My mission had been to submit my story by the deadline.  I was failing fast.

I had to write something. My head was stuffed with a myriad of ideas, but none of them seemed to work.  I sighed as I looked at the pile of screwed up papers overflowing the waste bin.

I reread all the other submissions for what seemed like the tenth time.  What did they have that mine lacked?  Even my analytic powers seemed to have deserted me.

I tried some displacement activities to look for inspiration elsewhere.  My e-mails and You Tube displayed the same as when I had looked before. I came up with no fresh ideas for the story.

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An Abbreviation of Love

Posted on by under 2021, October 2021 - The Mission

What struck Julian were the silvered eyebrows half-way down an oblong face. Most people’s eyebrows are a third of the way down. This displacement, together with a high hairline, left a disconcertingly blank expanse of forehead skin, broken only by a stray wisp of hair escaping diagonally from an oiled and groomed coif to gently caress the outer arch of the right brow.

They had met in Drawing Class five years previously. A common love of philately and the search for the missing, presumed stolen, “Inverted Jennies.” -so named because the stamps’ bi-planes had been printed upside-down, -had propelled an initial halting comradeship into friendship, to them sharing a flat together, then more.

Shane was ostensibly the more extrovert. A favourite entertainment for both was him regaling Julian with colourful yarns of adventures with his “alternative” friends; the “Famous Five” he called them. Sometimes, without warning, “You go out and enjoy yourself. Come back any time after 10.30pm.” Shane would say in his appeasing voice, letting Julian know he had to be out that evening and what time he was permitted to return. Shane would shower, apply aftershave, don his grey and pink checked, 3 piece suit, and complete the “look” so carefully cultivated with a fedora. Julian guessed these evening assignations were with the “Famous Five”, either singly or in various combinations. Him meeting any was out of the question. Not permitted.

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Mission Accomplished

Posted on by under 2021, October 2021 - The Mission

It isn’t the kind of building you’d notice on Google Maps. A red brick set amidst terraces of red brick. The Mission is a working, sleeves-rolled-up place, somewhat larger than the surrounding houses, but no more ornate.  Like many of its type, set in poorer streets across the land, it is loved with a rough, unsentimental familiarity and relied on to do its work.

In past times, the Mission performed its original purpose as a non-denominational meeting- house with both religious and educational aims. Working children were sent to Sunday school there and, after a modest lunch, spent afternoons struggling with reading, writing and adding-up.  

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The Maze

Posted on by under 2021, October 2021 - The Mission

They interlocked like two jigsaw pieces, she believed. He started a sentence, she completed it. She began to form an idea, he developed it. Brick and mortar, wood and nail.

            Phil was tall, dark-haired, good-looking, otter-sleek. And busy around the university campaigning, a missionary for environmental change. Strong feelings, high ideals. Hers too, and they went about together, she the shadow to his light.

            Frieda knew she wasn’t attractive like him. Plumpish, plain face and brown hair, a reclusive fieldmouse, shy, to his out-there eager-beaverness. But they were solid, and she wanted him desperately.

            One night they slept together. Fully locked. This was it. She would never feel incomplete again, no longer believe she was a solitary piece of a puzzle. But in the morning he just said, ‘That was nice. We’re still friends?’ And then he was off with his right-on, committed chums, busy-busy, no time for her for days. She asked him eventually had it just been a one-off?

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A Mermaid’s Mission

Posted on by under 2021, October 2021 - The Mission
Man and Mermaid

‘Happy birthday, sis!’ Rae thrust a present into Eva’s hand.

Eva tore into the shimmering fish-skinned wrapping paper.

‘A Mother-of-Pearl travel hairbrush! Thanks!’

‘A must-have for your upcoming mission!’ Rae’s smile was as wide and bright as the pearl gift she’d bestowed upon her sister.

‘You’re more excited than me,’ said Eva.

Rae, a year older, had just completed her mission. She’d been so immersed in it that Eva had barely seen her. Strangely, she’d hardly spoken about it.

Missions were set by the elders when mermaids turned eighteen. Rae had been tasked with collecting discarded plastic.

‘Let’s see what your mission is!’

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Who Says You Can’t Choose Your Own Family?

Posted on by under 2021, Sept 2021 - You Can't Pick Your Family

Walking out of the courtroom, Zac turned to the couple who had fostered him for the last six years. His face lit up a huge grin on his face. 

”I won, she is out of my life. I’m all yours, you can now adopt me.”

His birth mother stormed out, mouthing abuse at anyone in her path. Zac stood his ground his eyes blazing. Hesitating, his mother met his eyes, turned and stalked away.  

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It Runs In The Family?

Posted on by under 2021, Sept 2021 - You Can't Pick Your Family

Since The Leak life had been a bit strange. The familiarity of domestic routines was a comfort. Practising mindfulness whilst washing-up at the kitchen window was amongst Norma’s favourites. There, as usual, was Robin the robin, twisting and bobbing on the garden wall, looking out for his breakfast. She and Paul had chosen the name long ago when they were still speaking to each other, or more correctly before the diagnosis, when she could speak.

Useless at multi-tasking.

At the movement, Norma’s thoughts refocussed. Looking-up from a particularly stubborn fried egg encrustation, Paul entered her vision window-left. He was wearing his usual gardening attire, the pink “onesie.” Face down, back arched, he was advancing worm-like through the petunias. She and Robin watched him reach the ninety degree obstacle of the house wall corner and stop. Robin opened his beak, uncoiled a forked tongue, flicked and caught the cat snoozing below, gulped, and flew off.

Too much! This has got to stop.

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Poor Mrs. Norris

Posted on by under 2021, Sept 2021 - You Can't Pick Your Family

‘Mrs Norris must be one of the most irritating women in literature. She is a snob with prejudices of class and an ingratiating manner to her perceived superiors taken to extremes. What’s more, she is a terrible cadger and someone who puts self-interest well above kindness to those around her.’

It can hardly be said that Ellen could ever be mistaken for a Mrs. Norris fan. Yet in Bethany there was a reluctance to join in this outright condemnation without considering background detail that might have contributed to some of Mrs. Norris’s less appealing manners. She ventured a defence:

‘Poor Mrs. Norris had two sisters. One managed to marry a rich and influential man whilst the other married a seaman who came down in the world. She was in the middle of these extremes and married a local clergyman who seems rather dull and uninterested in matters beyond his mealtimes. She was bored, and sought to enliven her days by visiting the rich man’s household. The sister there was poor company so she tried to involve herself in the lives of the four nieces and nephews who despised and avoided her. All she had left was to abase herself and seek to be useful to the master and mistress of the house. It is sad that her sacrifices were so undervalued by the family and possibly cost her the opportunity of making lasting friendships.’

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My Sister’s Life

Posted on by under 2021, Sept 2021 - You Can't Pick Your Family

Looking back, everybody remembered different things about her. To my mum, she had been an angel, (a definite case of amnesia there). Dad would only ever refer to her as his little girl. I was never sure where I was in his affections after her untimely death.

As time passed, she became more and more godlike in my parents’ eyes, placed on a pedestal and worshipped by all, well maybe not quite everyone. My Aunty Betty remembered her wild ways, the problems she brought onto the family, but anytime she mentioned past events, Mum would quickly change the subject.

I remember laying in bed listening to the arguments, my sister screaming and slamming doors, my parents raised voices.  The same weekly standoffs about what time she had to be home, the company she was keeping, and the way she behaved. Nothing they ever said made any difference. She just did what she wanted. Back then, my sister was the black sheep of the family and was very proud of it. When Christine was bored, she would go out of her way to cause trouble. It always resulted in her gaining the attention she wanted. I just kept out of her way as much as possible, life was much easier like that.

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The Branch Snaps

Posted on by under 2021, Sept 2021 - You Can't Pick Your Family

Arthur Davies had fewer words than a wintry tree has leaves. If he ever showed emotion, it would arouse public comment.

            He sometimes walked about the neighbourhood, a nod here and there amid the taciturnity. He was a small, stocky man, a human Oxo cube with short legs. Although only middle-aged, his wild tufty hair was white and resembled anarchic cotton wool.

            On the day Kabul fell to the Taliban he went down to the promenade, sat on a bench, and looked out at sea. He was there hours, passers-by said, staring like a sailor trying to locate an object below the surface. The sea was still, impenetrable, its surface gleaming like stainless steel in the August sun.  

            Somebody wondered if he was recalling his son in that desert of seawater. ‘Bound to have been,’ said another. ‘Might be asking what his sacrifice was for.’ Eighteen years previously, his son’s tank had been blown up by a booby trap, three months after he arrived in Afghanistan. The son had been an idealist, apparently, wanting to do good for the local people of Helmand province, wanting to ‘liberate’ them, help girls get education, stuff like that, it was said. That would’ve consoled Arthur down the years, surely, one woman suggested across her fence to the woman next door. That would’ve kept him going, wouldn’t it? A branch to cling to.

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Dad’s Desert Island Discs

Posted on by under 2021, Sept 2021 - You Can't Pick Your Family

Reaching for my phone, I brace myself for the usual abusive messages from my ex. But for the second day in a row, nothing.

I glance at the clock. Dad asked me to tune into Radio 4 now, for reasons unknown. “You’ll see,” he smiled. Typical Dad, avoiding direct communication, everything a riddle.

The Desert Island Discs theme tune floats out of the speakers like a gentle breeze. The sly old dog! I turn up the volume.

“I’m delighted to welcome today’s Castaway, retired England cricketer, David Myles!” says Lauren Laverne.

“David, you’ve famously declined several invitations over the years. But there’s a very personal reason you’ve agreed now.”

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Not my blood.

Posted on by under 2021, Sept 2021 - You Can't Pick Your Family

Mum lay on the hospital bed with tubes coming off her. Nurses rushed around, plugged in equipment, pulled over a wheeled table with scalpels, sucking things, an I.V. beeps and boops and machines whirred like sirens. The sight of her turned me to jelly. I wished with all my heart that I hadn’t said those words. ‘I wish you were dead!’ It made me feel sick.

            The doctor pulled me outside. ‘She’s refusing to take blood.’

            I clutched my head and tried my best to calm my breathing. ‘She’s a Jehovah’s Witness. It’s against her beliefs.’

            The doctor gripped my shoulder. ‘Listen, she is going to die unless she has blood. I know you are only sixteen, but you are her next to kin. You can overrule her decision. It’ll be entirely your responsibility. We can’t give her blood without your permission.’

            ‘She’ll hate me. She really believes in that shit. Can’t you do anything else?’

            ‘A blood transfusion is her only hope. She has internal bleeding and is in a critical condition. The decision has to be now.’

            I looked at her pale face beneath the tubes. A nurse lifted her arm to push in a needle into her vein. She looked dead already. It was too much to bear.

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The Revenge of the Wild Haggis

Posted on by under 2021, August 2021 - Revenge

Based on the myth that Scotsmen hunt haggis

Somewhere in the Highlands of Scotland:

“Order! Order! I’ve called this all clans meeting to discuss what we can do bout stopping our friends and families being kidnapped and eaten” the Chief Clansman stated.

“Hear, hear” shouted Wee Willie.

“As e all know, it’s around this time every year that we get hunted doon,” the chief continued.

“Sommut must be done, I’ll nay lose another bairn,” interjected Aggi.

“We moust act now, if we’re to save our bairns” the Chief stated as he stamped his wee foot on the floor.

“I blame that Robbie Burns. What have we done to him, why are we being sacrificed like poor lambs to the slaughter?” Jock asked.

“Hear, hear” shouted Wee Willie.

“Aye, I’ll agree with e there Jock, I’ve never heed of him.”

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