Lucky Dog

Two years ago Kathy, the oldest member of Yarm Writers Group, was ninety . One week she read us a story about her visit to see her latest great grandson.

She told us that in addition to the baby there was a new dog in the house. Kathy is quite small. The dog was big and it greeted her by putting its paws on her shoulder and licking her face.

That week the topic for our writing piece was ‘Lucky or Unlucky.’ This gave me the idea, I hesitate to say inspired me to write a piece called ‘Lucky Dog.’ I jotted it down and read it out at the end of the meeting. It read:

“I wish I was a lucky dog.
If I were a lucky dog.
I would get the chance,
To lick Kathy all over her face.”

At the next meeting Kathy was waiting for me to arrive. I was commanded to, “Sit!” If I did she said I would not have to beg. I did as I was told. From behind her back she pulled a small bag with some treats for a dog.
Since then I have been, not only talking to dogs in the village but also ‘treating’ them.

Some weeks later I used Microsoft Publisher to create a copy of my story to present to her. I even added a picture of one of my daughter’s dogs.

When I gave her it she said I had made her day.

The only thing that worried me was her last comment, “This deserves something more than treats”

The Voluptuous Witch

 

The Cutty Sark  posted by daily.postcard@gmail.com (Sheila) at A Postcard a Day  reminded me that I had written this for Yarm Writers Group in 2008

The Voluptuous Witch

"Every old woman with a wrinkled face, a furrowed brow, a hairy lip, a gobber tooth, a squint eye, a squeaking voice or scolding tongue, having a rugged coat on her back, a skull-cap on her head, a spindle in her hand and a dog or cat by her side, is not only suspect but pronounced for a witch."

So said John Gaule in his condemnation of Matthew Hopkins the infamous, self-styled "Witch-finder General" – who took his notorious business throughout East Anglia in the 1640's.

Nannie was not like that. She was winsome and walie; what we today would call voluptuous. She wore only a short shift made for her as a child from coarse Paisley linen and far too short to hide her modesty.

On a dark and stormy night after a day’s hard drinking a farmer left an inn on his faithful horse. The Scots would say he was fou or, perhaps you may prefer, he was three sheets into the wind. Along the way he came to an old churchyard just as the storm grew worse and lightning illuminated the scene. To the accompaniment of thunder the farmer saw that graves had opened up and coffins stood on end. Corpses held torches to light up the merriment that was taking place and which was presided over by the Devil.

Warlocks and witches danced hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys and reels. Amongst them, was the scantily clad Nannie, the voluptuous witch, lively and full of spirits. The bemused farmer watched her in awe and could not resist shouting out, “Well done.”

This was the cue for warlocks and witches, led by Nannie, to break off from their revelry and give chase to the farmer on his horse. Although initially rooted to the spot the farmer, fearing for his life, fled pursued by the horde. He urged his horse on towards a bridge over a river; he knew that if he could make it there the witches could not cross the running water and he would be safe.

He reached the bridge, but as he crossed Nannie reached out and grabbed his horse’s flowing tail. Fortunately for horse and man, the horse did not stop and Nannie was left holding the horse’s tail which she had pulled off.

The man lived on to farm and drink another day.

But what of Nannie? Her fame lives on in Scottish legend. In her short shift still holding the horse’s tail she became the inspiration for the figurehead of the fastest and most famous of all the world’s tea clippers.

Despite a disastrous fire in 2007 the clipper remains the only one surviving to this day. Its name is Cutty Sark.

The story of the farmer and Nannie in her cutty sark, the too short shift of coarse Paisley linen, was immortalized by Robert Burns in his famous poem Tam o’Shanter.

Flamboyant or Reserved

This is the first piece I wrote on joining Yarm Writers. The topic set is typically an alternative; you can chose to write on, in this case, flamboyant or reserved - or both. How you interpret the topic is up to you and you can write an article, a poem or a piece of fiction.

Flamboyant or Reserved

Boot Wood cannot be described as flamboyant. Nor can it claim to be reserved as, unlike Castle Eden Dean, it has not acquired the status of a North-East Natural Nature Reserve.

The noises in the wood are not loud, but the modern world makes its presence felt by the hum of speeding traffic, the whine of aircraft overhead and even the rumble of a far off train.

On a windy day in March, the eerie creaks of rubbing branches interspersed with the rattle of last year's ash keys are more modest. Brash however is the blackbird's warning protest cry at your intrusion into its realm. And if the clatter of wood pigeons' flight does not make you jump, you cannot but be impressed by the exuberant territorial call of the cock pheasant, celebrating his escape from the last of winter's February shoots. Brightly coloured and showy, he struts his stuff while his harem of hens are more reserved with dull plumage that you only see when they are brave enough to venture out into the stubble fields.

At this time of year, the colours of the wood are subdued, with holly and ivy-covered ash providing a green and pale tan backdrop against a clear blue sky. There are no hints of flowers yet to come as the leggy snowdrops have passed their best, with only three lonely daffodils looking lost against the brown carpet of horse chestnut leaves. A few white violets tinged with blue are trying to make an impression of flamboyance; it will be a while before the white blooms of the spreading chestnut confidently stake a showy claim for dominance. There certainly is no hint of bright red flowers as can be seen on Madagascan trees.

Smooth and patterned trunks of different shades of green and grey and brown give away the ages of the trees, none of which are old enough to be on an ancient woodland inventory. Boot Wood would rather be reserved or better still preserved, even although it has not reached a stage where preservation orders protect it or its trees. It contains no footpaths or bridle ways thus confirming Byron's words that "There is a pleasure in pathless woods".

Of modest size, under two hectares, Boot Wood was planted in the 1880s beside what was then a turnpike road, from which stagecoach passengers could take a rest at the nearby Crown. It seems unlikely that they would have graced the wood in their flamboyant finery. Now man has marked his presence by the litter left which demonstrates the fast food and careless culture of today. Discarded traffic cones, plastic ‘skull-caps' and a yellow traffic lamp betray completed road works on the road that has turned from pike to ‘A'. Tall Trees name-bands have been jettisoned from among the glitz on the bejewelled wrists of flashy and ostentatious nightclub guests. Do you still want to be flamboyant or reserved?

What of the wood? It may not wish to be compared to a cold French gothic stone traced with static waves and ornate decoration; its tree tops can create a moving wave of living greenery; but wait until its vibrant hues of autumn and the vivid shades of red of hips and haws proclaim that it would be proud to be both flamboyant and reserved

Yarm Writers Group

I have been a member of Yarm Writers Group (YWG) for just over 3 years.

 The group meets once a fortnight in the library at Yarm, in the North East of England. The group aims to be fun and I can vouch for the friendly atmosphere. It has been in existence for over 25 years

Doris Perley, who writes family and local history,chairs each meeting. Doris says we may not be the most talented writing group, we write because we enjoy it.

At each session a topic is set for members to write about and read  at the next meeting - it's not compulsory. Criticism is rarely harsh as the aim is to provide support and build confidence in what we write. If one person in the group enjoys the writing then that's a successful piece.

People visiting the library have been heard to say, "I go on a Thursday because of the laughter from the meeting room.

Each year there is an outing - my first visit was to Alnwick Castle in Northumberland.Later  we visited Eden Camp which claims to be the only modern history theme museum of its type in the world covering WWII and military history of the 20th century. The camp held Italian and German POWs during the war.

 

I intend to post pieces I have written for presentation to the group so look out for them in future posts. There are around 75 so far. Hope you will like some of them.