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The Creative Writers Group had very good reviews of their first
venture into print entitled Beyond Words. Keen to keep the
momentum going they have now embarked on web publishing using the oirayr
website as their vehicle. Below are this month's contributions.
This section of the site, however, is open to anyone who has a story
to tell. David Mainland
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The camera never lies
by
Irene Howat
Bob looked at the photos and smiled. She’d done it again, had Nan. She’d put
Robert’s going to university photo in front of the frame holding two photos
of him, taken seconds apart, and very different.
‘Do you remember taking these?’ Bob asked his nephew.
Craig nodded.
‘I was passing and I couldn’t resist taking a photo of you coming out of the
court, two, in fact, to be sure one came out. Mind you, I didn’t give you
them until I knew you weren’t in trouble!’
They looked at the photos. In the first Bob was scowling. In the second he’d
a smile on his face.
‘I took them for a laugh,’ said Craig. ‘I certainly didn’t think you’d frame
them!’
‘I’ll tell you why I did,’ said Bob, as both men sat down. ‘I was a slow
developer, a remedial. What a dreadful word to call a child! And there were
no second chances in my day. A slow developer was a labourer in the making,
so a labourer I was until the day before those photos were taken. That was
when I went on to the next stage of slow development. I was made redundant.’
Bob thought about his 27 year-old-son, and his pride and joy.
‘That’s why I understood our Robert,’ he went on. ‘Nothing sparked in his
brain in primary school, not even football. All he wanted to do was play
with Lego and made dens with the boys next door. Secondary was no better and
when he left he had only had a few Standard Grades to show for it. But I
knew there was a spark in him just biding its time. So I waited and
watched.’
‘After school Robert worked on a farm, as you know,’ his uncle went on. ‘It
was while he was there he saw an assault and was called as a witness to
court. When he phoned on the night of the trial I knew the spark had burst
into flame. He was so excited!’
Craig remembered it well. His cousin could talk about nothing else.
Bob continued, ‘I didn’t push, just gently fanned the flame. A year later
Robert went to college to try to make up for lost time. Then he did that
access course in Glasgow, and now I’m the proud father of a mature
university student doing legal studies!’
‘I suppose that’s why I went into the court that day when I was nearly out
of my mind with worry about being made redundant. Two boys were in the dock,
17 year-olds. It broke my heart to see them. I came out of the place
heartsick and that’s when I had my bright idea. I could do something for
lads like that. I didn’t know what, but I’d turn every stone till I found
it. And I did.’
‘I went into the courthouse despairing, came out scowling and walked home
with a smile on my face. And I have your photos to prove it!’
ooooooooooooooooooo
Bumps in the Night
by
Margaret
McClelland
My cousin and I were walking in Burns’ Statue Square. We were about 8 years
old and on holiday. Suddenly a strange man asked if we would like sweets.
Grabbing Jean’s hand I pulled her away and we ran to catch up with our other
cousins. Jean, ever polite, kept saying “No thank you”. I just ran!
We were staying in Dalblair Road so didn’t have far to go. Uncle Archie ran
downstairs brandishing a slipper after hearing our story. The man was still
hanging around. He had followed us and said he was looking for a toilet.
Wonder if he found one in time?
Next morning (about 2 o’clock) I awoke to my sister’s muffled voice calling
my name. She wasn’t in bed beside me but I didn’t know where she was! It was
pitch black and there was no bedside light. I was completely disorientated
in the strange room. Even worse, I heard strange rumblings from outside the
room. Oh, Lord, was this The Sweetie Man looking for us? He knew where we
lived after all. I scrabbled about on the floor on hands and knees trying to
locate my sister, but, despite my best efforts, only bumped into the
furniture. I was also becoming more and more agitated as my thoughts kept
returning to The Sweetie Man.
After what seemed like hours, the door slowly began to open. My heart was
pounding and I couldn’t breathe or move! Eventually it opened wide and I
began to breathe more easily. Only more easily mind because the spectre of
Aunt Jean framed in the doorway was hardly edifying! Dressed in a shapeless
dressing gown, with a “boudoir cap” or, more aptly named, “bedouret bunnet”
covering her curlers, she was a sight to behold! Personally, I thought the
curlers would have looked better! Oh, and her face was liberally plastered
with night cream and her mouth devoid of teeth! (The Sweetie Man wouldn’t
stand a chance!). She had heard the kerfuffle in our room and come to
investigate. My sister was discovered under the bed. She had fallen down
between the bed and the wall!
And the bumps? That was Uncle Archie in the next room. He was tossing and
turning desperately trying to sleep. Well, wouldn’t you want to sleep if you
were lying beside Aunt Jean!?
ooooooooooooooooooo
John Disobeys
by
Margaret
McClelland
It was the day of my 13th birthday and I received my wings as a rite of
passage. I’d been looking forward to this for ages and decided to try them
out right away, but Mum was not happy. “There’s only one thing I ask, John.
Please don’t go up to the Mount in the Mist! Nobody knows what’s there. It
could be dangerous!”
“Nobody knows what’s there” does she not know?
That’s exactly why I want to go!
However all will turn out fine
As long as I’m home before bedtime.
But first I must learn to fly just right
Remember, this is my maiden flight.
So, after many spills, I can
Fly just as well as Peter Pan.
Then, straight up to the Mount I flew
And scarce believed what came to view
Thanks to the mist ‘twas hard to see
But I could make out giant trees
Then, I lost my concentration
And felt an earthward bound sensation
At last the thud of earth did come
And dreadful pains assailed my bum!
I’d landed on a giant thistle
And really did feel in a pickle!
The thistles laughed and clapped their leaves
To attract the attention of the trees.
Then, very much to my dismay
I saw them proceed to walk my way.
As closer still the trees did come
I wished I had obeyed my Mum
And as they all looked down on me
“What’s that?” asked one little tree.
“Don’t know, but never mind, we’ll try it
It’ll add excitement to our diet!”
“Oh, Dad will it be boiled or fried
And can I please have both the eyes?
I know you like the tongue the best
And Mum can have her favourite – breast.
The blood will help to make a sauce
So really nothing will be lost.”
Then “baby” had a dreadful thought
“Perhaps it’s too big for our pot”.
“Don’t annoy yourself”, said Dad
“We’ll cut it down the middle, lad.
The second half we’ll put away
And keep it for another day”.
ooooooooooooooooooo
Too clever by half
by
Irene Howat
It was getting the new set of phones for the house that gave me the idea for
the Howat Individual Character-changing Undercover Positioner, HIC-CUP for
short. Although there are four phones I only needed to key names and numbers
into one and then press a button to transfer them to the others.
That was my inspiration for HIC-CUP. Unlike the phones, which allowed me to
transfer data, HIC-CUP allows me to change data that’s already there. It has
many applications. The application I use myself is its ability to change the
print in documents and books, no matter where in the world they are. I scan
the original text into HIC-CUP, key in my changes, put in a code known only
to myself, press the hash key and …….. everywhere in the world where that
particular text is found, my changes are made. I can change pictures too,
but that’s more technical.
My first experiment was to right an injustice of which I’ve been aware since
I was about five years old. How dare Enid Blyton call that dear man Mr Big
Ears and label him with his aural protuberances for all time. HIC-CUP soon
sorted that out. He now has normal ears and that little prat, Noddy, has had
a nose job, making his nasal protuberance nobbly. He’s been everyone’s
favourite for far too long. I checked in our library and, yes, HIC-CUP had
worked. Their copy had changed too!
I reckon my most successful application was with Oliver Twist who had been
whinging on about wanting more food for over 150 years. It was his name that
suggested the change. I crossed Oliver Twist with Jamie Oliver and had Twist
set up a restaurant in London to serve cheap food to the poor boys of 1850s
London. I smile every time I think about it. I called the restaurant Fagans!
However, I nearly came to grief over a modern-day injustice. Can anyone
watch that intellectual snob Morse without feeling sorry for Lewis, who is
such an ignoramus? Well, I changed that, all right. Over the course of two
of Colin Dexter’s books I had Lewis filling in occasional answers in Morse’s
crosswords. Then, towards the end of the second book, I had him complete The
Times crossword in nine minutes, Morse’s record being eleven. But that went
a bit pear-shaped because Dexter reads his own books and he discovered the
changes! His publisher had to recall thousands of copies and reprint. I’ll
wait for a while before I set HIC-CUP loose on Morse again.
The only physical change that readers notice (apart from the storyline, of
course) is little puff of dust under HIC-CUPed books. At present I have to
use fewer words than in the original and the dust is the left-over letters.
HIC-CUP hasn’t earned me anything yet. But I’m looking into examination
applications, like using it to correct wrong answers after you get home and
check the right answer on the Internet. Watch this opportunity!
ooooooooooooooooooo
My Collection
by
Kath Jones
My first husband’s name was Henry, but he was usually called Harry. He was
the son of the local ironmonger down the High Street, and we started walking
out when I was just seventeen and he was nineteen. We were madly in love but
my father wouldn’t let us get married until I was eighteen. We tied the knot
just before war broke out; Harry signed up, went away, and never came back,
like so many in that war to end all wars.
One day, after the war, I was helping my father-in-law in the shop when a
very pleasant gentleman came in to buy some screws. He said his name was
Henry, and we got on so well together that in no time at all we were married
and he became a manager in the shop. He turned out to be a con-man, only
after the business – not only that but a bigamist too, and Henry was
actually his second name.
The judge at the trial was a lovely old man, also called Henry, who was due
to retire. He wanted a companion to travel the world with him. I said I
wouldn’t consider such a thing unless we were married. So he was my
sugar-daddy and we had a gay old time for seven years seeing the world. We
were living the high life in Raffles hotel in Singapore when he had a fatal
heart attack.
Henry number four was the undertaker who buried number three. Twelve months
after we married he crashed the hearse just after he’d picked up a customer,
and ended up in the back of his rival’s hearse.
I remained a widow until 1940, when I met Hal (short for Henry). He was a
rear-gunner in the RAF, and fifteen years younger than me. Despite the age
difference, we married, but his plane was shot down over France, and just
like Harry, he never came back.
I felt lonely after the war, so I enrolled for evening classes in art and
French. A gentleman in the French class was very friendly – we went to the
theatre together several times before getting engaged. Eventually Henry and
I married and had twenty truly happy years together before he was diagnosed
with cancer and died on the day that Neil Armstrong walked on the moon.
Not long after that I married Henry number seven, but he was a big mistake.
We were totally incompatible – the only thing we agreed about was that we
wanted a divorce. We parted fairly amicably as soon as we could.
I’ve been alone now for ten years. I recently moved into a pensioner’s
bungalow (well I am in my eighties). There’s a very nice widower next door.
His name is Harry (presumably Henry) and we spend a lot of time in each
other’s houses. You’re never too old, so perhaps I will be able to persuade
him to complete my collection.
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