{"id":1762,"date":"2023-09-22T08:17:42","date_gmt":"2023-09-22T08:17:42","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/?p=1762"},"modified":"2023-09-22T08:17:48","modified_gmt":"2023-09-22T08:17:48","slug":"go-little-queenie","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/go-little-queenie\/1762\/","title":{"rendered":"Go Little Queenie"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

The oppressive heat gave a dreamlike feel to the morning. The purple-grey clouds on the horizon seemed slumbering islands, the motionless sea a broad pane of glass, the people on the beach sleepwalkers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Half hidden in a rocky cove at the end of the bay, a man of about sixty was digging a hole in the wet sand with a small spade. Progress was slow, the incoming tide hesitant but sufficient to drip into his work. He retreated inside a narrow cave, muttering, \u2018Should\u2019ve come earlier.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

            A dog poked its nose into where he was digging. \u2018Hop it!\u2019 he said. Then a youngish fellow, tall, fair-haired, appeared.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Barney. Here!\u2019 he shouted. The dog was watching the digger like a time and motion studier. \u2018Sorry to disturb. Come on boy!\u2019 he said to his dog who appeared to be transfixed by something. Then he asked: \u2018Worms for fishing?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The older fellow, a ring in one ear, spiky grey hair, a bald spot on top, and wearing a tee-shirt saying Anarchy in the UK<\/em>, said: \u2018Me dog. Died this morning.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Oh?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Walked Queenie on the beach every day, year after year. Paradise for her this place were. Gonna bury her here.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Right, come on then Barney. Respect for the dead. Let\u2019s be off.\u2019 But the dog remained rooted to the spot. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The hole now completed, sand stacked up at its sides, the punk pulled a dark object from his bag. Barney began growling, quietly at first, then furiously. The punk held in his arms a small black mongrel which he lowered into the hollow, whispering, \u2018Good bye old mate.\u2019 He then stood to attention. The youth uncertainly adopted the same posture.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Music,\u2019 the punk said. \u2018Send him off in style.\u2019 He took out his mobile phone, fiddled with it, and the Sex Pistols\u2019 \u2018God Save the Queen\u2019 resounded around the cave. Barney began to bay, a lupine, ear-splitting howl. Both men continued to stand upright like guardsmen until the punk broke briefly into a pogo. When the tune was done, Barney\u2019s howling turned to a growl, then a mumble, then he too was hushed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The punk began shovelling sand over Queenie, patting it down and levelling it gently. When he was done, he studied the filled hole for a moment, turned on his heels and left.    <\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018Expect he\u2019ll come here now and again to pay his respects,\u2019 the youth said to Barney. \u2018When your time comes, how would you like to sleep here next to Queenie?\u2019 He shook a lead as he walked out into the light, saying, \u2018Walkies.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Barney didn\u2019t budge. Next thing he was scratching the spot with his claws, sand flying everywhere.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u2018It\u2019s not a bone he\u2019s buried!\u2019 the youth said. \u2018Maybe you know her? Is that it?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The lead was put on the frenetically burrowing Barney and he was dragged away, baying eerily. They emerged from dark into sunlight. Sleep was still upon the beach and sea. Only the desperate to be free Barney seemed completely alive.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The oppressive heat gave a dreamlike feel to the morning. The purple-grey clouds on the horizon seemed slumbering islands, the motionless sea a broad pane of glass, the people on the beach sleepwalkers.             Half hidden in a rocky cove at the end of the bay, a man of about sixty was digging a hole […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"rop_custom_images_group":[],"rop_custom_messages_group":[],"rop_publish_now":"initial","rop_publish_now_accounts":{"facebook_10158782359051062_103813597863211":"","twitter_1225722811282530305_1225722811282530305":""},"rop_publish_now_history":[],"rop_publish_now_status":"pending","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[695,933],"tags":[238,63,944],"class_list":["post-1762","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-695","category-music","tag-go","tag-little","tag-queenie"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pbrNJE-sq","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1762","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1762"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1762\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1764,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1762\/revisions\/1764"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1762"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1762"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1762"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}