1. virus
2. business
3. instrument
4. special
5. complex
6. superhuman
" There is a Prince Charming in all good fairy stories, but not in this one.
In a dream I invent a SPECIAL VIRUS,; with the assistance of a BUSINESS partner;
Who with his SPECIAL knowledge of COMPLEX INSTRUMENT production enabled the
finished tool of destruction to be capable of the complete annihilation of the huge invading SUPERHUMAN
aliens from planet (KOOBECAF) .
Thursday, 30 June 2016
Wednesday, 29 June 2016
WORDS ON WEDNESDAY>
Words For WEDNESDAY.
These Words are here to assist you or confuse you in your .
efforts to compose a short story. These words must be used entirely within your own story. This is not an original Idea but evolves from other frequently visited blogs from which I find Interesting. VEST.
These words were selected from the blog of RIVER
You may write your story now if you wish.
HOTTEST.
RECONNECT.
INTERACTIVE.
DRIFTWOOD.
MYSTERY.
CONTINENTAL.
This is my contribution.
Although the MYSTERY of the peculiar antics of the visiting sons of Nippon and their aerobatic performances had been witnessed in and around an area South of the Indian sub CONTINENT( The Indian Ocean) We were now intent on making our acquaintance yet again. and at that moment in time I would have wished to be elsewhere - any where, however, there was a job to be done and despite it being a public holiday for some lucky souls, this Sunday Easter day April 1 and all fools day, it was to become our HOTTEST day yet, when we were due to RECONNECT with our old foe, who would be following our early morning strike aircraft returning to our A/C Carriers, " Bogey on the Plot All Quarters stand to" Then no fewer than a dozen of the Sons of Nippon arrived ,Whereupon our INTERACTIVE group on the 'Air Defence Position swung into action
Later, after the confusion, smoking DRIFTWOOD and other wreckage from aircraft Covered the ocean until we moved from the area. Soon after the Captain arrives and Say's "Well done Lads'' and in his jocular manner grinned when saying" Better wear brown trousers at Action Stations in future"..
Okinawa 45.
VEST... Back soon.
Saturday, 25 June 2016
'Going Down' The British Way..
'Arrgh" Enough Weekly to buy a small car Or if you Booze Three cheap bottles of Taiwan whisky..
Yep that's how I look at the Amount my Land of hope and *^)#*)(%#$ Glory ; Naval and State British Pension has tumbled, Well I shall not worry too much, this will in turn lower my outgoings to the OZ Fed Govt, and I could be a right B-----d and cancel my miniscule charity donations in order to even the score. Well I shall not do anything about the problem but I shall relish the fact that what Great Britain needs most, is their locals buy more British goods and close the frontiers to the Hordes of Migrating would be non English speaking Dole Bludgers.and those intent on imposing their archaic and ridiculous beliefs on others.
Having said that, I feel that as a now fully Qualified Brit and Strine linguist I should feel grateful to be able to reside in the land Girt by sea and sincerely hope my Rello's in GB get this mess cleaned up soon . Good onyer Girt.
Vest... Back soon. The time is always right to do what is right.
Friday, 24 June 2016
Save this NAVY NEWS
There are still ex RN members Of the British Pacific Fleet WW2 "The Forgotten Fleet. Who returned To Australia or stayed here In Australia at the end of hostilities August 1945..
My Name is Leslie John Bowyer, I served in the H M S King George V And I am one of four known crew members residing here in Australia Their names are George Haynes aged 93, Jim page Aged 92 , Pat O'Shaughnessy aged 90 and I Mentioned am 90 Come July 16 this year.
I also served on Duke Of York, Diadem, Mauritius 47-48 and then Indomitable A/C and Ceylon and (Terror Singapore) up to 1954. Then the Dainty, Scar borough, up to 1961 then followed Tamar Hongkong and Verylam up to time of pension 1966.
If there are any of you old timers out there with a memory Who may have recall of myself or these ships mentioned. Please contact me on les@bowyer.net.au or visit my Blog
vest@dailygaggle,com or "The Daily Gaggle". Thank you. Les Bowyer Budgewoi NSW Australia.
WHITE RIBBON UNDER SCRUTINY (Read Today's Sydney Telegraph.) Also words for Wednesday
1. Why you should never give a cent to White
Ribbon . Worth a read. Go to Sydney Daily Telegraph on line.
____________________ ...........
Results for words on Wednesday
____________________ ...........
Results for words on Wednesday
The infamous Wife beating (BOXER)'Benny the basher from Birmingham', emerged from his favourite pub bar having sunk eight pints of his favourite BREW which had washed down his large serving of SMOKED HAM sandwiches.ReplyDelete
His alcohol fueled BELLICOSE attitude sent him flying as he tripped when his RECKLESS charging down the pub steps sent him flying face first skidding on the hot BITUMEN road - his just reward for drunken behaviour.
- Reply
- The week of camping under CANVAS became a complete disaster due to the tent ROOF leaking due to the continuing rain.ReplyDelete
JEWEL our PLUM coloured Bitser hound left a PUDDLE of water each time she entered the tent when she; accompanied by Bill - a friend, returned from yet another unsuccessful attempt to POACH a few Pheasants from the game reserve for our lunch, 'WELL THAT'S ANNOYING' Say's I and that's not all, it seems the dog just ate the remainder of the SMOKED HAM left over from yesterday, sorry to have to tell you that but I was writing when the dog came in and I made a mistake in the confusion and have written the word ROOF instead of REEF , how silly of me.
Vest Back soon.
Wednesday, 22 June 2016
EMILY FINAL.
Emily stayed over that night. I was already asleep when she lay on my
bedspread, covered by a blanket and her street coat. Sally drove Emily
home the following morning, as snow had fallen overnight. Emily had
informed Sally about our overnight dalliance. Sally explained to me that
her friend, Emily, whom she knew quite well, was a trustworthy young
lady with an unconventional innocence.
While alone with Sally, I asked her if she ever got a high metabolism
when eating fish and chips. Sally scratched her lowered head with eyes
raised and replied; “If it’s what I think it is, you cheeky devil, it’s none of
your business.” After looking up this unusual word in the dictionary, I
explained to Sally that it had nothing to do with ‘you know what’ and
that it meant ‘being able to take in a large quantity of sustenance without
becoming fat.’ Sally replied, laughing, “I have heard of it being called
several different names but never ‘sustenance.’”
Later in the day when Emily called for me, a smiling Sally said, “I
hope you are keeping his sustenance under control.” The word wise
Emily replied,” I have no control over his sustenance. He can do
whatever he pleases with it. I am quite happy with a large intake of
sustenance, as I never get fat.” Sally burst out laughing when Emily and I
were leaving and said, “Enjoy your fish and chips.”
We sat in the corner of the back seat on the top deck of a bus that was
taking us to a show in Oxford called ‘The Importance of Being Earnest’.
The bus conductor, who noticed our closeness, said, “I’ll have no goings
on while you are on my bus.”
Emily replied, “He is my young brother and he’s feeling cold.”
“What he is feeling is not cold, young lady. Move apart.” During the
half hour ride, Emily mentioned Sally’s silly question about sustenance.
After I explained it to her, she told me that Sally’s education wasn’t as
broad as hers and that Sally would have to be informed so I wouldn’t get
a bad reputation. When we left the bus, Emily called the conductor a
‘frigging pervert,’ which were two more words I had never heard of
before. We had a different conductor on the bus on the way home. He
was more considerate and suggested I share my heavy coat with the
young lady, who was asleep and shivering. I removed my warm hand
from my glove and caressed her wobblies, which brought a beautiful
smile to Emily’s face.
Emily brought me educational books she thought I’d find useful. She
saw the need to expand my communication skills. On a couple of
occasions, she left a list of questions to be answered. It was pleasing to
see her face light up when I gave a correct answer.
Miss Emily Jane Courtney-Cowper was an only child. Her young
ladies finishing school education and confidence were going to make her
a winner. My brief encounter with Emily had also given me a boost of
confidence in being able to parley politely and successfully with people,
particularly the opposite gender. I must say that the association I had
with Emily was a necessary part of my life. Without it, I might still be a
shy stick-in-the-mud who was going nowhere.I saw a lot of Emily
over the holiday. Her family was one of the
wealthiest in the district; she was a member of the ‘upper-crust.’ Emily
and I went to the cinema often and to a show in London. Because I was
broke, she paid and called the shots. I went along with her decisions.
Emily was manipulative in many ways but also had a knack of
handling any situation which arose with amazing dexterity. We spent
several evenings together and I found that she could also be an exciting,
loving friend. After twelve days of listening to her saying, “I have
decided,” her superior control freak thing finally got to me.
Remembering what I had learned previously, I also concluded that a rest
from our activities would prevent me from ‘going blind.’
When I said goodbye to Emily, who had to return to her Army unit,
her sniffles and watery eyes demonstrated her sadness. I explained that
her generosity and closeness as a friend had been a great comfort to me. I
told her she was a beautiful person with a beautiful mind and that
knowing her would make my life richer. Emily wiped a tear from my
face and we kissed. Emily then ran crying to where her Daddy stood. He
comforted her as he led her into their house. As the door closed, I was
overcome with sadness. (It would be another eight years before I saw
Emily again, but by then I would be more mature!)
Although I spent Christmas day at the Parker’s, most of my holiday
was spent at Sally’s house in Chiplington. Before Christmas I attended a
funeral. I was in the pub for the wake and became violently ill when
given a pint of beer to drink.
About two days before returning to the school, I buried Sally’s pet
dog, Dane in her back garden. It took many hours of digging due to the
frost and the size of the hole. (Dane was a Great Dane.)
Emily’s mother, Mrs Caroline Courtney-Cowper, delivered me to the
train station at Paddington on Saturday 3 January. She was returning to
her business in London after the Christmas break to take part in the
January sales. Mrs Courtney-Cowper gave me ten shillings and told me
that there was something about me that she found likable but she didn’t
know exactly what. I smiled inwardly at her statement and then thanked
and complimented her on her generosity and for being such a beautiful
lady. Caroline (as she had asked me to call her) gave me her address in
London in case I was ever at loose ends. This nice lady then told me that,
as a member of the Parker family, I had become sociably acceptable and
had behaved admirably with her darling daughter,
It would be another six years before I saw this absolutely delightful
lady again.
I arrived back at the school to find the police investigating the
mysterious death of Ricky Pinder. He had allegedly committed hari-kari
by using the weapon he would normally use to kill the pigs on the farm.
He was under a cloud of suspicion due to his supposed immoral activity
with boys at the farm. I expect that all the pigs on the farm would have
squealed with joy knowing his demise.
The day I left HNA, 7-1-42; To join The Royal Navy at 15.5 years of age,
few of the nicer staff members gave me a few
pennies to spend on my journey. The school authority generously
contributed one shilling and a packet of sandwiches. Many boys came to
wish me good luck, some of whom I had had little to do with at the
school. Although I was glad to be rid of that dreadful school, I was going
to miss the friends I had made there over the years.. Fini.
bedspread, covered by a blanket and her street coat. Sally drove Emily
home the following morning, as snow had fallen overnight. Emily had
informed Sally about our overnight dalliance. Sally explained to me that
her friend, Emily, whom she knew quite well, was a trustworthy young
lady with an unconventional innocence.
While alone with Sally, I asked her if she ever got a high metabolism
when eating fish and chips. Sally scratched her lowered head with eyes
raised and replied; “If it’s what I think it is, you cheeky devil, it’s none of
your business.” After looking up this unusual word in the dictionary, I
explained to Sally that it had nothing to do with ‘you know what’ and
that it meant ‘being able to take in a large quantity of sustenance without
becoming fat.’ Sally replied, laughing, “I have heard of it being called
several different names but never ‘sustenance.’”
Later in the day when Emily called for me, a smiling Sally said, “I
hope you are keeping his sustenance under control.” The word wise
Emily replied,” I have no control over his sustenance. He can do
whatever he pleases with it. I am quite happy with a large intake of
sustenance, as I never get fat.” Sally burst out laughing when Emily and I
were leaving and said, “Enjoy your fish and chips.”
We sat in the corner of the back seat on the top deck of a bus that was
taking us to a show in Oxford called ‘The Importance of Being Earnest’.
The bus conductor, who noticed our closeness, said, “I’ll have no goings
on while you are on my bus.”
Emily replied, “He is my young brother and he’s feeling cold.”
“What he is feeling is not cold, young lady. Move apart.” During the
half hour ride, Emily mentioned Sally’s silly question about sustenance.
After I explained it to her, she told me that Sally’s education wasn’t as
broad as hers and that Sally would have to be informed so I wouldn’t get
a bad reputation. When we left the bus, Emily called the conductor a
‘frigging pervert,’ which were two more words I had never heard of
before. We had a different conductor on the bus on the way home. He
was more considerate and suggested I share my heavy coat with the
young lady, who was asleep and shivering. I removed my warm hand
from my glove and caressed her wobblies, which brought a beautiful
smile to Emily’s face.
Emily brought me educational books she thought I’d find useful. She
saw the need to expand my communication skills. On a couple of
occasions, she left a list of questions to be answered. It was pleasing to
see her face light up when I gave a correct answer.
Miss Emily Jane Courtney-Cowper was an only child. Her young
ladies finishing school education and confidence were going to make her
a winner. My brief encounter with Emily had also given me a boost of
confidence in being able to parley politely and successfully with people,
particularly the opposite gender. I must say that the association I had
with Emily was a necessary part of my life. Without it, I might still be a
shy stick-in-the-mud who was going nowhere.I saw a lot of Emily
over the holiday. Her family was one of the
wealthiest in the district; she was a member of the ‘upper-crust.’ Emily
and I went to the cinema often and to a show in London. Because I was
broke, she paid and called the shots. I went along with her decisions.
Emily was manipulative in many ways but also had a knack of
handling any situation which arose with amazing dexterity. We spent
several evenings together and I found that she could also be an exciting,
loving friend. After twelve days of listening to her saying, “I have
decided,” her superior control freak thing finally got to me.
Remembering what I had learned previously, I also concluded that a rest
from our activities would prevent me from ‘going blind.’
When I said goodbye to Emily, who had to return to her Army unit,
her sniffles and watery eyes demonstrated her sadness. I explained that
her generosity and closeness as a friend had been a great comfort to me. I
told her she was a beautiful person with a beautiful mind and that
knowing her would make my life richer. Emily wiped a tear from my
face and we kissed. Emily then ran crying to where her Daddy stood. He
comforted her as he led her into their house. As the door closed, I was
overcome with sadness. (It would be another eight years before I saw
Emily again, but by then I would be more mature!)
Although I spent Christmas day at the Parker’s, most of my holiday
was spent at Sally’s house in Chiplington. Before Christmas I attended a
funeral. I was in the pub for the wake and became violently ill when
given a pint of beer to drink.
About two days before returning to the school, I buried Sally’s pet
dog, Dane in her back garden. It took many hours of digging due to the
frost and the size of the hole. (Dane was a Great Dane.)
Emily’s mother, Mrs Caroline Courtney-Cowper, delivered me to the
train station at Paddington on Saturday 3 January. She was returning to
her business in London after the Christmas break to take part in the
January sales. Mrs Courtney-Cowper gave me ten shillings and told me
that there was something about me that she found likable but she didn’t
know exactly what. I smiled inwardly at her statement and then thanked
and complimented her on her generosity and for being such a beautiful
lady. Caroline (as she had asked me to call her) gave me her address in
London in case I was ever at loose ends. This nice lady then told me that,
as a member of the Parker family, I had become sociably acceptable and
had behaved admirably with her darling daughter,
It would be another six years before I saw this absolutely delightful
lady again.
I arrived back at the school to find the police investigating the
mysterious death of Ricky Pinder. He had allegedly committed hari-kari
by using the weapon he would normally use to kill the pigs on the farm.
He was under a cloud of suspicion due to his supposed immoral activity
with boys at the farm. I expect that all the pigs on the farm would have
squealed with joy knowing his demise.
The day I left HNA, 7-1-42; To join The Royal Navy at 15.5 years of age,
few of the nicer staff members gave me a few
pennies to spend on my journey. The school authority generously
contributed one shilling and a packet of sandwiches. Many boys came to
wish me good luck, some of whom I had had little to do with at the
school. Although I was glad to be rid of that dreadful school, I was going
to miss the friends I had made there over the years.. Fini.
Tuesday, 21 June 2016
Words For WEDNESDAY.
These Words are here to assist you or confuse you in your .
efforts to compose a short story. These words must be used entirely within your own story. This is not an original Idea but evolves from other frequently visited blogs from which I find Interesting. VEST.
These words were selected from flipping the dictionary and poking with a pen...
You may write your story now if you wish , But my story will possibly be posted by tomoorrow.,
SECRET.
IRRITATING.
FORTY.
CANDOUR.
BUTCHER.
UNATTRACTIVE.
TRAINING.
Here goes. "The sad tale of Stella Stickybeak."
A lady ? of trying habits is Stella Stickybeak a scandal mongering spinster in the Parish of Koobecaf in Joe Bonkers Bananaland where the trains travel past the proverbial black stump - whom all of us had experience of her (Irritating) chatter in the railway carriage - who would relate the gory details of her sons most, recent piles operation and add - it runs in the family. The (Forty) nine year old wrinkled chatterbox was also troubled with a similar unbridled (Candour) as her son - as she constantly moved her sitting posture. Her gift of deceit and (Training) in fibs which an (Unattractive) appearance imposes on some ladies is unfortunate but she goes on about and confesses like a fool her (Secret) life to her siblings and also the (Butcher) and the baker and the proverbial candle stick maker.
There are many Stella Stickybeaks ,their (Irritating) whingeing likes and dislikes they post on Facebook would ; making head or tail of them ; harder than to attend to the (Training) of a deaf Rocking horse.
A lie has no legs, but a scandal has wings.
Vest Daily Gaggle.... Back soon with final episode of Emily.
IRRITATING.
FORTY.
CANDOUR.
BUTCHER.
UNATTRACTIVE.
TRAINING.
Here goes. "The sad tale of Stella Stickybeak."
A lady ? of trying habits is Stella Stickybeak a scandal mongering spinster in the Parish of Koobecaf in Joe Bonkers Bananaland where the trains travel past the proverbial black stump - whom all of us had experience of her (Irritating) chatter in the railway carriage - who would relate the gory details of her sons most, recent piles operation and add - it runs in the family. The (Forty) nine year old wrinkled chatterbox was also troubled with a similar unbridled (Candour) as her son - as she constantly moved her sitting posture. Her gift of deceit and (Training) in fibs which an (Unattractive) appearance imposes on some ladies is unfortunate but she goes on about and confesses like a fool her (Secret) life to her siblings and also the (Butcher) and the baker and the proverbial candle stick maker.
There are many Stella Stickybeaks ,their (Irritating) whingeing likes and dislikes they post on Facebook would ; making head or tail of them ; harder than to attend to the (Training) of a deaf Rocking horse.
A lie has no legs, but a scandal has wings.
Vest Daily Gaggle.... Back soon with final episode of Emily.
Monday, 20 June 2016
Yes it's the Face book gooks again
Can't spell cant think Can't read Can't write no time to spare except use simple text such as "I Like " and "Not Like", Their peers who are Idolised like D Grade celebs because of their ability to write one liners which are used frequently like a graffiti signature painted on a public lavatory or bus shelter in order to impress thier inane followers, the easily lead.
The boring untruths of facebook
I don't care a hoot if I insult you because you are a face book moron , it is about time you long time users and losers were told the truth
Here I shall give you a few reasons not to like face book any more full stop.
First of all Face book is always watching like a sweaty old middle aged bimbo or dirty old geezer whose only interest is immorality and depravity; take your pick. It is also a a source of anything likely to be of little use plus a guide to future depravity for the unemployable school leavers expanding the dole queue's.. The predators mentioned watching and recording every thing you like or desire and every ones info you have recorded, yes every one you have ever visited..
The face book man keeps are not simply filed away under I bet you wish we were not watching you so closely, your news feed is based on this info All of your past love trysts and agony plus the latest fleeting romance as well as your on line history , is used to sell you stuff too..
Most people I have read on Face book who are not celebrities always seem to be on the beach sunning themselves with their latest Spanish or froggy Lothario, others are renovating their newly acquired mansion on the Gold coast or some other upmarket area. and lying about enjoying the company of their half dozen offspring and cooking food few people have ever heard of.. Maybe these people have won big on lotto and given up on work, or some were devoted in their Quest to find the end of the Rainbow ; found it and moved there
Face book is constantly experimenting on you, They tally up the info you have revealed and use it to sell you more stuff you really don't need. The only way I can see face book being of any face value is forget about chasing the approval of others, simply share the things you have enjoyed with persons you may believe would enjoy them too.
Vest ....Back soon.
"Sweet as fragrant roses 'Tis to have a friend, on whom in gloom or sunshine we know we can depend"
Here I shall give you a few reasons not to like face book any more full stop.
First of all Face book is always watching like a sweaty old middle aged bimbo or dirty old geezer whose only interest is immorality and depravity; take your pick. It is also a a source of anything likely to be of little use plus a guide to future depravity for the unemployable school leavers expanding the dole queue's.. The predators mentioned watching and recording every thing you like or desire and every ones info you have recorded, yes every one you have ever visited..
The face book man keeps are not simply filed away under I bet you wish we were not watching you so closely, your news feed is based on this info All of your past love trysts and agony plus the latest fleeting romance as well as your on line history , is used to sell you stuff too..
Most people I have read on Face book who are not celebrities always seem to be on the beach sunning themselves with their latest Spanish or froggy Lothario, others are renovating their newly acquired mansion on the Gold coast or some other upmarket area. and lying about enjoying the company of their half dozen offspring and cooking food few people have ever heard of.. Maybe these people have won big on lotto and given up on work, or some were devoted in their Quest to find the end of the Rainbow ; found it and moved there
Face book is constantly experimenting on you, They tally up the info you have revealed and use it to sell you more stuff you really don't need. The only way I can see face book being of any face value is forget about chasing the approval of others, simply share the things you have enjoyed with persons you may believe would enjoy them too.
Vest ....Back soon.
"Sweet as fragrant roses 'Tis to have a friend, on whom in gloom or sunshine we know we can depend"
Our 63rd Wedding anniversary celebrations,!
It was a Chilly morning at 5 am when we were woken from our slumbers. Having showered and dressed, at 6 am Rosemary was leaving for the hospital for Eye Surgery with Chris our eldest son.
I was home alone with two hungry moggies, after breakfast , I prepared today's dinner and cleaned the kitchen , I then decided to go back to bed from 7-30 am and was wakened at 11 am on the return of Rose and Chris from the hospital . Shortly after a phone call from Timothy our No 5 son who is moving to Queensland and who; after singing "Happy Anniversary" requested financial assistance for his move. Tim is always mindful of 'Keeping up appearances' Mrs Bucket's Gay son Sheridan.- always broke.
It is sunny today with a warm wind from the north - quite pleasant; a change from the storms and rain, I am still in my pyjamas, must change soon as it is lunch time. ....No one seems interested in lunch, the hospital duo are sleeping off those early hours they missed, and I have just heard that No 2 son Anthony (Tony) is having a Hernia Op today 400 klms down the coast
Here are pics from the hospital The Guy in the mask is Doc Chris. and Rosemary the subject for Surgery.
Saturday, 18 June 2016
Random 'WORDS FOR SUNDAY.'
These Words are here to assist you or confuse you in your .
efforts to compose a short story. These words must be used entirely within your own story. This is not an original Idea but evolves from other frequently visited blogs from which I find Interesting. VEST.
Base..Venus..Ditches Frozen Bedstead Stupid Time.
My story soon. This is a hard one from a flipped dictionary pages.selection
The Beaters.
As a child I found a tough way to supplement my Income was to act as a beater for the local gentry during shoots and various wildlife hunts. Our (Base) in Mill road manor house was the start and finish (Venue) where the spoils were counted and beaters paid usually about a half crown. Mind you it was a long (Time) ago, when I was too young to know better; I was beagling on a snowy day and I got stuck with a girl whose name, as far as I remember, was Mary (Bedstead), and a perfectly (Stupid) hound named (Venus) Venus had to be lifted over fences and carried across Brooks and Muddy (Ditches). Lord knows where the Hare and everyone else got to but I don't recall seeing any of them ever again.. Mary wasn't a good companion she constantly whined and complained about her aches and pains, however, In the course of time me and Miss (Bedstead) and (Venus) staggered back to (Base), (Frozen) exhausted and deeply fed up with each other. Yes we both got our half crown , but for what; the Lord of the manor would never know..
Foot note. Sadly, Mary B was never going to be an Emily.
Thursday, 16 June 2016
EMILY , (part 2)
Emily Part 2.
Emily told me we first met when she was fifteen at the time of Sally
and Adam’s wedding. I told her I didn’t remember her. Emily said she
was not surprised since I was quite tipsy and had fallen asleep on a chair.
She said she sat next me and held me in case I fell, and I had been very
naughty that day.
I was beginning to enjoy Emily’s company. She was so polite and
always smiled. She asked, “Do you have other clothing than what you
are wearing?” I told her I only had stuff I could wear around the house.
“Well in that case, dear boy, as I will be seeing more of you in the near
future, we will call into my Uncle and Auntie’s place in High Wycombe
in a little while for a cup of tea and fix you up with some swish duds.”
Emily explained that her Uncle Frank was a barrister (whatever that
was?) and he travelled a lot and was a frightful bore.
When we arrived at Emily’s Aunt’s house, the Daimler in the carport
made our Rover pale in comparison. I was fascinated by the two-seater
Morgan in the garage. Despite it being wartime, a time of austerity, this
large imposing residence reeked of wealth.
Emily was true to her word. Her Aunt, who had grown sons, was able
to provide me with loads of high quality cast-offs. Emily’s fifteen-yearold
cousin Dora, who was not a striking beauty, looked despairingly at
me in an attempt to chat me up. She asked if I was staying nearby. Her
mother replied that I was not and suggested that it would be better for
her to wait a little longer – maybe until the war was finished – before
asking. When we left, I took little Dora’s hand and kissed it, saying that
she would soon grow up to become a beautiful young lady. As she
curtseyed lightly and thanked me, I saw a tear in her mother’s eye.
While waving goodbye, Emily thanked me for being so nice to Dora.
“Poor little darling,” she said. “She is a sweet child but not very pretty.”
“Yes,” I said. “You must feel so lucky to be as pretty as you are. I have
really enjoyed your companionship and thank you for everything.”
Coming down the hill from the village of Stokenchurch, Emily
stopped the car and said, “It’s the tea at my Aunt’s. I must stop, as it will
be some time before I get home and I don’t like your Auntie Parker’s
toilet one little bit.”
“That’s better,” she said when she returned to the car. “Tomorrow I
will pick you up, so get cleaned up and be dressed smartly by just after
four. It will be dark then and no prying eyes.” Emily patted my head and
told me she was pleased she had found me. In addition, she said she
would like to share the rest of her holiday with me. Leaning over I kissed
her cheek and said “Thank you, pretty lady.”
Upon our arrival home at Charlham, Emily kissed me. To the staring
Parker family, kissing would in those days be like the prelude to an
engagement. Having completed the reunion pleasantries, I told Auntie
Parker that I had a date with Emily the following day, purely for pleasure
and nothing permanent. Auntie told me that Sally, her daughter-in-law,
would put me up anytime I was in Chiplington.
It was past four-thirty when Emily called to collect me the next day in
her daddy’s car. Her superior appearance, her aura, the Chanel No. 5
perfume, and her acceptance of me gave me a great deal of confidence.
We called into Sally’s place and I made my acquaintance with Dane,
Sally’s dog, which she had inherited from a deceased relative. Sally was
having problems, as the dog would not eat its food. After lots of hugs
from twenty-six-year-old Sally, whom I thought at the time was quite a
good hugger, I deposited my overnight bag and clothes.
Soon after arriving at Emily’s home, we walked the short distance to
the town centre. The provincial Cinema at Chiplington was where all
eyes would be on any new faces or, better still, pairs of faces. It was
rather dark in the cinema. Emily kissed me full on and placed my hand
on her left wobbly. For an almost sixteen-year-old, this was fun. Emily
spoke to an old person who was ogling us. She pointed to the screen and
called him a ‘Dick Wit.’
“Sorry, “she said. “ Army talk again.” Later at the fish and chip shop,
we managed to find a seat in a warm corner where Emily ate a much
larger portion of food than I could have managed. I looked at her in
disbelief. She grinned and explained that she had a high metabolism,
whatever that was. I thought it was probably some form of erotic
excitement. Emily’s foot was continually rubbing my lower leg under the
table, which could be seen by everyone in the slightly steamed-up mirror
behind the counter
Emily told me her fiancée was in Egypt with the army and having a
good time no doubt, whereas she had to be ‘intact’ for their wedding day
when he arrived home. I informed her that I, too, was unsullied and had
no intention of defiling her.
It was later that evening at Sally’s house that Emily said to me, “If
handled with care, it will probably not ruin our reputations.” We had
arrived back at Sally’s house about nine pm. The night was cold and
Sally had gone to bed. The open fireplace was a comforting sight. Sitting
close to the fire with hot drinks on a large rug, we were able to remove
our street coats. Emily, who I thought was never going to come out of the
bathroom, appeared all preened and cleaned and sent me off to do
likewise.
During the chatter that followed, she asked, “Please would you
scratch my back here?” She pointed to the area, saying, “It’s probably the
heat from the fire that’s doing it.” Emily took my hand and guided it
down her back. After saying; “Ah, that’s better,” she guided me around
to the front and told me to “scratch softly, dear boy.” I told her that to
touch such beautifully smooth skin was pleasing. She replied, “You are
such a darling with words.” After kissing me, she said, “John, dear boy,
would you rub the other spot that is itching?”
Guiding my hand, Emily said, “Slowly, darling. That’s better. Don’t
stop now. I will tell you when.” She then arched her back and her eyes
dilated. She said, “That was wonderful, dear boy.” We then hugged. At
that point, I had developed an ‘itch’ of my own, which was detected by
dear sweet Emily, whose obvious experience in removing itching in
sensitive areas had me concluding that she was quite happy to lend a
helping hand.
Emily, who had moved further away from the fireplace, had
redeveloped her former itch; which by now I was more able to detect.
Emily and I repeated a ritual similar to the first.
Following Emily’s discovery that my former itch had gone beddybye,
I kissed dear sweet little Emily and shot off up the stairs...
Fini Part 2.
More will be coming soon.!!
Vest Daily Gaggle.
Emily told me we first met when she was fifteen at the time of Sally
and Adam’s wedding. I told her I didn’t remember her. Emily said she
was not surprised since I was quite tipsy and had fallen asleep on a chair.
She said she sat next me and held me in case I fell, and I had been very
naughty that day.
I was beginning to enjoy Emily’s company. She was so polite and
always smiled. She asked, “Do you have other clothing than what you
are wearing?” I told her I only had stuff I could wear around the house.
“Well in that case, dear boy, as I will be seeing more of you in the near
future, we will call into my Uncle and Auntie’s place in High Wycombe
in a little while for a cup of tea and fix you up with some swish duds.”
Emily explained that her Uncle Frank was a barrister (whatever that
was?) and he travelled a lot and was a frightful bore.
When we arrived at Emily’s Aunt’s house, the Daimler in the carport
made our Rover pale in comparison. I was fascinated by the two-seater
Morgan in the garage. Despite it being wartime, a time of austerity, this
large imposing residence reeked of wealth.
Emily was true to her word. Her Aunt, who had grown sons, was able
to provide me with loads of high quality cast-offs. Emily’s fifteen-yearold
cousin Dora, who was not a striking beauty, looked despairingly at
me in an attempt to chat me up. She asked if I was staying nearby. Her
mother replied that I was not and suggested that it would be better for
her to wait a little longer – maybe until the war was finished – before
asking. When we left, I took little Dora’s hand and kissed it, saying that
she would soon grow up to become a beautiful young lady. As she
curtseyed lightly and thanked me, I saw a tear in her mother’s eye.
While waving goodbye, Emily thanked me for being so nice to Dora.
“Poor little darling,” she said. “She is a sweet child but not very pretty.”
“Yes,” I said. “You must feel so lucky to be as pretty as you are. I have
really enjoyed your companionship and thank you for everything.”
Coming down the hill from the village of Stokenchurch, Emily
stopped the car and said, “It’s the tea at my Aunt’s. I must stop, as it will
be some time before I get home and I don’t like your Auntie Parker’s
toilet one little bit.”
“That’s better,” she said when she returned to the car. “Tomorrow I
will pick you up, so get cleaned up and be dressed smartly by just after
four. It will be dark then and no prying eyes.” Emily patted my head and
told me she was pleased she had found me. In addition, she said she
would like to share the rest of her holiday with me. Leaning over I kissed
her cheek and said “Thank you, pretty lady.”
Upon our arrival home at Charlham, Emily kissed me. To the staring
Parker family, kissing would in those days be like the prelude to an
engagement. Having completed the reunion pleasantries, I told Auntie
Parker that I had a date with Emily the following day, purely for pleasure
and nothing permanent. Auntie told me that Sally, her daughter-in-law,
would put me up anytime I was in Chiplington.
It was past four-thirty when Emily called to collect me the next day in
her daddy’s car. Her superior appearance, her aura, the Chanel No. 5
perfume, and her acceptance of me gave me a great deal of confidence.
We called into Sally’s place and I made my acquaintance with Dane,
Sally’s dog, which she had inherited from a deceased relative. Sally was
having problems, as the dog would not eat its food. After lots of hugs
from twenty-six-year-old Sally, whom I thought at the time was quite a
good hugger, I deposited my overnight bag and clothes.
Soon after arriving at Emily’s home, we walked the short distance to
the town centre. The provincial Cinema at Chiplington was where all
eyes would be on any new faces or, better still, pairs of faces. It was
rather dark in the cinema. Emily kissed me full on and placed my hand
on her left wobbly. For an almost sixteen-year-old, this was fun. Emily
spoke to an old person who was ogling us. She pointed to the screen and
called him a ‘Dick Wit.’
“Sorry, “she said. “ Army talk again.” Later at the fish and chip shop,
we managed to find a seat in a warm corner where Emily ate a much
larger portion of food than I could have managed. I looked at her in
disbelief. She grinned and explained that she had a high metabolism,
whatever that was. I thought it was probably some form of erotic
excitement. Emily’s foot was continually rubbing my lower leg under the
table, which could be seen by everyone in the slightly steamed-up mirror
behind the counter
Emily told me her fiancée was in Egypt with the army and having a
good time no doubt, whereas she had to be ‘intact’ for their wedding day
when he arrived home. I informed her that I, too, was unsullied and had
no intention of defiling her.
It was later that evening at Sally’s house that Emily said to me, “If
handled with care, it will probably not ruin our reputations.” We had
arrived back at Sally’s house about nine pm. The night was cold and
Sally had gone to bed. The open fireplace was a comforting sight. Sitting
close to the fire with hot drinks on a large rug, we were able to remove
our street coats. Emily, who I thought was never going to come out of the
bathroom, appeared all preened and cleaned and sent me off to do
likewise.
During the chatter that followed, she asked, “Please would you
scratch my back here?” She pointed to the area, saying, “It’s probably the
heat from the fire that’s doing it.” Emily took my hand and guided it
down her back. After saying; “Ah, that’s better,” she guided me around
to the front and told me to “scratch softly, dear boy.” I told her that to
touch such beautifully smooth skin was pleasing. She replied, “You are
such a darling with words.” After kissing me, she said, “John, dear boy,
would you rub the other spot that is itching?”
Guiding my hand, Emily said, “Slowly, darling. That’s better. Don’t
stop now. I will tell you when.” She then arched her back and her eyes
dilated. She said, “That was wonderful, dear boy.” We then hugged. At
that point, I had developed an ‘itch’ of my own, which was detected by
dear sweet Emily, whose obvious experience in removing itching in
sensitive areas had me concluding that she was quite happy to lend a
helping hand.
Emily, who had moved further away from the fireplace, had
redeveloped her former itch; which by now I was more able to detect.
Emily and I repeated a ritual similar to the first.
Following Emily’s discovery that my former itch had gone beddybye,
I kissed dear sweet little Emily and shot off up the stairs...
Fini Part 2.
More will be coming soon.!!
Vest Daily Gaggle.
Wednesday, 15 June 2016
Being alone was dead easy or (Easier), I had long ago discovered, if you become two people, the actor and the observer. The (Actor) was always the same,The actor played many parts; a King, Sailor, or an officer in the French foreign legion for instance Or maybe a English detective in London's Baker street or a gunner on Lord Nelsons Flagship popping a cannon (Ball) down the barrel of a hot cannon.
"There he goes", I was able to say about myself, even in the deeply (Unhappy) days at that wretched boarding school when I ran around a (Frozen) football field, keeping as far as possible from the (Ball), or cantering across the desert sands on a camel leading my (Platoon of of ex robbers and murderers and at least one British (Duke) dissapointed in love, in a charge against a dissident Arab Shiek and his army of sabre wielding followers in that not too famous battle of Sidi Ding Dong, where Arabs illegally 'Bricked' their camels at the water trough near the date palm oasis. When I eventually stopped dreaming, my character became more sophisticated, I then came more under the influence of blogging and discovering reality and that I was not the only person in this world who was a complete delusionary.
Sorry Gotta go, My shrink is at the door.
"There he goes", I was able to say about myself, even in the deeply (Unhappy) days at that wretched boarding school when I ran around a (Frozen) football field, keeping as far as possible from the (Ball), or cantering across the desert sands on a camel leading my (Platoon of of ex robbers and murderers and at least one British (Duke) dissapointed in love, in a charge against a dissident Arab Shiek and his army of sabre wielding followers in that not too famous battle of Sidi Ding Dong, where Arabs illegally 'Bricked' their camels at the water trough near the date palm oasis. When I eventually stopped dreaming, my character became more sophisticated, I then came more under the influence of blogging and discovering reality and that I was not the only person in this world who was a complete delusionary.
Sorry Gotta go, My shrink is at the door.
Monday, 13 June 2016
WORDS ON WEDNESDAY.
These Words are here to assist you or confuse you in your .
efforts to compose a short story. These words must be used entirely within your own story. This is not an original Idea but evolves from other frequently visited blogs from which I find Interesting. VEST.
EASIER
BALL
ACTOR.
PLATOON.
DUKE.
UNHAPPY.
FROZEN.
My story will be told on Wednesday. Vest Daily gaggle. Here we go.
Being alone was dead easy or (Easier), I had long ago discovered, if you become two people, the actor and the observer. The (Actor) was always the same,The actor played many parts; a King, Sailor, or an officer in the French foreign legion for instance Or maybe a English detective in London's Baker street or a gunner on Lord Nelsons Flagship popping a cannon (Ball) down the barrel of a hot cannon.
"There he goes", I was able to say about myself, even in the deeply (Unhappy) days at that wretched boarding school when I ran around a (Frozen) football field, keeping as far as possible from the (Ball), or cantering across the desert sands on a camel leading my (Platoon of of ex robbers and murderers and at least one British (Duke) disappointed in love, in a charge against a dissident Arab Sheik and his army of sabre wielding followers in that not too famous battle of Sidi Ding Dong, where Arabs illegally 'Bricked' their camels at the water trough near the date palm oasis. When I eventually stopped dreaming, my character became more sophisticated, I then came more under the influence of blogging and discovering reality and that I was not the only person in this world who was a complete delusional.
Sorry Gotta go, My shrink is at the door.
Vest ...Back soon.
Friday, 10 June 2016
EMILY..Part one.
It was Friday, 12 December 1941. My last holiday from the school
started earlier than that of the other boys, as I was off to join the Navy in
January. That morning I was driven to the train station by my
headmaster, Mr Foran-Stein, whose nickname was the same as that of his
predecessor, Mr Frederick Hoskin. F S gave me a sixpenny piece and
walked with me to the platform, protecting me from the falling snow
with his umbrella. While waiting for the train, F S bought me a hot drink
and insisted he see me onto the train. I told him he would be late for
assembly. He said he doubted he would be on the wrong end of the stick
for being late. F S was married and his wife was a pleasant lady, but they
did not have children. They owned a dog which was dark in colour; with
a white band of hair around its neck, named ‘Parson’, I on many
occasions took Parson the dog for extensive rambles beyond the school
boundaries with complete immunity from the school authorities, that dog
was one of the nicer beings at the school. I asked F S to say goodbye to
Parson from me, he reminded me of the time when Parson got loose and
found me among three hundred boys on the parade ground and would
not leave me and I was ordered to take him home, which resulted in me
having lunch with him and his wife; instead of going to church.
I was never rude to the headmaster who, like his predecessor, was a
person of quality. I also admired him because of his uncanny likeness to
my favourite cricketer, D.C.S Compton, whose income was
supplemented by advertising ‘Brylcreem.Also I had never received the
cane from him unlike his predecessor.’ I thanked him for his help and
generosity and told him he was not a bad bloke despite his occasional
fearful looks when angry. He replied that he had never before received a
compliment from any student in the school. F S then shook my hand and
I boarded the train. As the train pulled out, I waved. When he waved
back, he had a sad expression on his face.
travellers in my compartment informed me that it wasn’t in my best
interests to join the Navy and proceeded to tell me gory stories about
how sailors die in battle. It was somewhat frightening. At Paddington
station, I met the young woman who was a friend of Auntie Parker’
my Foster Mother in Charlham, Oxfordshire.
At eighteen plus, Emily was a very pleasant, attractive young lady.
She was not classically beautiful due to her height, but she had a very
pretty face. When she saw me, she came over and said, “John Spencer,
(not my real name) I presume. Emily Jane Courtney-Cowper.” I took Emily’s
outstretched hand, not certain what to do. Judging by her smile, the sparkle in her
eyes, and her bearing and eloquent speech, I assumed (from watching
old movies) that Emily was a lady of quality and that I was expected to
kiss her hand. This I did, saying “Pleased to meet you, Ma’am. I was
expecting to meet an old lady, not one as pretty as you.” By now, Emily
was giggling her head off. She said, “What a darling boy you are, but
come along now. We must rush, as we are attracting an audience.”
Emily told me she had learned to drive while in the ATS (Women’s
Army.) She was on two week’s leave and had borrowed ‘Daddy’s car’, as
she put it, for a fun drive to London to get me home to Charlham. Emily
was a pleasant person to talk to. She had brown eyes, light brown hair,
and was about five feet three inches tall with a trim figure. I
complimented her on the scent she was using. She told me that in the
country, foxes have scent and ladies wear perfume. I told Emily it was
pleasing to be able to talk to a pretty lady who smiled a lot, wasn’t old,
and didn’t smell of disinfectant like the old bags at the school.
When Emily stopped laughing, she said, “We must pull in here by the
trees, as I must go for a pee. The cold weather does it to me. You’d better
go, too, as we have a fair way to go yet.
End of part one. ( INTERESTED? THERE IS MUCH MORE)
Part Two soon.
Vest Daily gaggle
Wednesday, 8 June 2016
(1) An Adolescent
An excerpt from my past Part 1
Early 1940 – Wartime at HNA
Christopher, my brother, left the school to work in a factory near London.
He later joined the Royal Navy in January 1941.
The fifty senior boys at the school had access to WW1 303 short Le-
Enfield rifles with ammo, our own ‘Home guard.’
A Charlham Home guard member, Fatty Speed, was absent from
training on more than one occasion and was summoned and
subsequently fined. I was told he left the court, caught the bus straight
away, and fifteen minutes later bought cigarettes at the first shop in
Charlham, where the lady said, “I hear you got fined three quid, Fatty.”
He replied, “This is the only place I know where sound travels faster
than light.”
I was about fourteen years old when I was confirmed into the Church
of England and learned the catechism and Christian principles. I also
learned not to ask adverse questions about the teachings of the Bible. Our
holy man had a heavy hand. He told us that blind faith in the Lord
would guide us through our lives, and that the lack of faith in
Christianity was an unpardonable sin. When I asked Reverend “Holy”
Harling if his faith would save him if he jumped off a cliff after praying
for safety, he chased me round the schoolroom waving his cane. The
malevolent use of the ‘unpardonable sin’ doctrine years ago by Christian
churches justified their mass murdering, torturing, and burning of people
at the stake. Holy Harling was the reincarnation of Draco 659- 601 BC.
My nose had detected that the Bishop who conducted the
confirmation ceremony had been at the sacramental wine. Only once did
I attend Holy Communion. I just couldn’t swallow the dogma. The
thought of drinking the blood of Christ and eating his body were
inhuman and repulsive to me.
An older person replaced gunner Marten, who I mentioned earlier.
Since war and brutality were the things he enjoyed the most, Gunner had
volunteered to become involved in the war in 1939. It also provided him
with an opportunity to escape from his harridan of a wife who constantly
berated him with tongue-lashings. Mr Marten would then take it out on
us suffering boys. My wish for gunners demise on Dec22,36,when he
thrashed me unmercifully,When I did a bunk from the school came to
fruition in 1940 when he departed this world.
He was killed in action doing what he did best. It was a sad
end for a sad bloke. “Sorry, Mr Marten. It was said in the heat of the
moment and it did hurt.”
Now Mr Long, who was Gunner’s successor and had a continual drip
at the end of his nose, was a weirdo ex-Royal Navy gunner’s mate. about
sixty-odd years of age, Mr Long was not as strict as his predecessor, but
an occasional thump on the head and ‘Pay attention!’ kept us on our toes.
I could hardly understand the gobbledegook he came out with, such as
naval gunnery instructional information that had been superseded long
before WW1. Occasionally, we would laugh at something funny he had
said. At least I assumed it was funny, as everyone else was laughing. My
mind was usually on other things, as I found Mr Long’s chuntering
brutally boring.
During the summer of 1940, a display of our various talents was to
take place in a nearby town. The more older and robust boys, who were
usually recruited from the lower end of 4B and 3B classes, were to give a
field gun display; similar to the one the Royal Navy does during the
Royal Tournament at Earl’s Court in London each year. The only
difference was that the field guns were smaller. I wasn’t considered big
enough for this tomfoolery, which often entailed breaking limbs and/or
losing fingers; my turn for that would come soon enough. The
entertaining program for the paying local yokels who had never seen this
boring stuff before would include marching displays, a rifle drill, the
sailor’s hornpipe, and a performance by the school band; which would
not play “Colonel Bogey” on these occasions, and would always choose a
different town each year for fear of a poor audience.
Our physical training instructor, Mr Grosse whose name fitted him
perfectly, could be described as an oversized George Leatherby. He
became very annoyed with Mr Long when loading the trucks with the
tournament gear. This resulted in a good old punch-up with heaps of
foul language. The “F” word that was used frequently during this foray
was greeted several times with cries of “Oooooh’s” from the boys, who
thoroughly enjoyed this unusual spectacle. The headmaster, Mr Foran-
Stein (whose nickname I shall not mention) fired Mr Grosse on the spot
and the show went on.
Mr Grosse’s replacement was a lady about thirty-five years of age, a
Mrs Sheridan, whose husband was serving in the Royal Navy. She was
an attractive woman who always wore a pleasant smile. Our normal
mode of dress for physical training was shorts; but this lady insisted we
wear gymslips, which to us seemed a bit feminine. She was previously
employed at a toffee-nosed girl’s school near London that was bombed
during an overnight raid by the Luftwaffe. The bigger boys seemed to get
a lot of attention from this lady, especially when they’d vault the box
horse and the gymslips would come adrift. Mrs Sheridan was eventually
fired for having it off with under-age boys. How sad.
My mother visited me at the school with her new husband during the
summer of 1940 when I was fourteen. I had last seen her when I was
nine. It would be another six years before I saw her again. I never found
out what happened to her other husband, as my mother was reluctant to
discuss the matter. After seeing the film “Arsenic and Old Lace,” I
wondered if he was buried in the cellar under the coal. Her new
husband, William Stanley Brown, who was three years her senior, stayed
with my mother until he passed away in March 1973. He was a
remarkable man, a saint of a person, a former Sick Berth Attendant in the
Royal Navy during WWI. My mother apparently possessed some
unusual hidden qualities because when they were together they seemed
content. I was now beginning to feel unrelated to my mother. I couldn’t
understand her long absences and had become accustomed to her
appearance every five years.
Part 2 Will be 'EMILY' Providing I receive sufficient demand.
Vest ....Back soon.
Early 1940 – Wartime at HNA
Christopher, my brother, left the school to work in a factory near London.
He later joined the Royal Navy in January 1941.
The fifty senior boys at the school had access to WW1 303 short Le-
Enfield rifles with ammo, our own ‘Home guard.’
A Charlham Home guard member, Fatty Speed, was absent from
training on more than one occasion and was summoned and
subsequently fined. I was told he left the court, caught the bus straight
away, and fifteen minutes later bought cigarettes at the first shop in
Charlham, where the lady said, “I hear you got fined three quid, Fatty.”
He replied, “This is the only place I know where sound travels faster
than light.”
I was about fourteen years old when I was confirmed into the Church
of England and learned the catechism and Christian principles. I also
learned not to ask adverse questions about the teachings of the Bible. Our
holy man had a heavy hand. He told us that blind faith in the Lord
would guide us through our lives, and that the lack of faith in
Christianity was an unpardonable sin. When I asked Reverend “Holy”
Harling if his faith would save him if he jumped off a cliff after praying
for safety, he chased me round the schoolroom waving his cane. The
malevolent use of the ‘unpardonable sin’ doctrine years ago by Christian
churches justified their mass murdering, torturing, and burning of people
at the stake. Holy Harling was the reincarnation of Draco 659- 601 BC.
My nose had detected that the Bishop who conducted the
confirmation ceremony had been at the sacramental wine. Only once did
I attend Holy Communion. I just couldn’t swallow the dogma. The
thought of drinking the blood of Christ and eating his body were
inhuman and repulsive to me.
An older person replaced gunner Marten, who I mentioned earlier.
Since war and brutality were the things he enjoyed the most, Gunner had
volunteered to become involved in the war in 1939. It also provided him
with an opportunity to escape from his harridan of a wife who constantly
berated him with tongue-lashings. Mr Marten would then take it out on
us suffering boys. My wish for gunners demise on Dec22,36,when he
thrashed me unmercifully,When I did a bunk from the school came to
fruition in 1940 when he departed this world.
He was killed in action doing what he did best. It was a sad
end for a sad bloke. “Sorry, Mr Marten. It was said in the heat of the
moment and it did hurt.”
Now Mr Long, who was Gunner’s successor and had a continual drip
at the end of his nose, was a weirdo ex-Royal Navy gunner’s mate. about
sixty-odd years of age, Mr Long was not as strict as his predecessor, but
an occasional thump on the head and ‘Pay attention!’ kept us on our toes.
I could hardly understand the gobbledegook he came out with, such as
naval gunnery instructional information that had been superseded long
before WW1. Occasionally, we would laugh at something funny he had
said. At least I assumed it was funny, as everyone else was laughing. My
mind was usually on other things, as I found Mr Long’s chuntering
brutally boring.
During the summer of 1940, a display of our various talents was to
take place in a nearby town. The more older and robust boys, who were
usually recruited from the lower end of 4B and 3B classes, were to give a
field gun display; similar to the one the Royal Navy does during the
Royal Tournament at Earl’s Court in London each year. The only
difference was that the field guns were smaller. I wasn’t considered big
enough for this tomfoolery, which often entailed breaking limbs and/or
losing fingers; my turn for that would come soon enough. The
entertaining program for the paying local yokels who had never seen this
boring stuff before would include marching displays, a rifle drill, the
sailor’s hornpipe, and a performance by the school band; which would
not play “Colonel Bogey” on these occasions, and would always choose a
different town each year for fear of a poor audience.
Our physical training instructor, Mr Grosse whose name fitted him
perfectly, could be described as an oversized George Leatherby. He
became very annoyed with Mr Long when loading the trucks with the
tournament gear. This resulted in a good old punch-up with heaps of
foul language. The “F” word that was used frequently during this foray
was greeted several times with cries of “Oooooh’s” from the boys, who
thoroughly enjoyed this unusual spectacle. The headmaster, Mr Foran-
Stein (whose nickname I shall not mention) fired Mr Grosse on the spot
and the show went on.
Mr Grosse’s replacement was a lady about thirty-five years of age, a
Mrs Sheridan, whose husband was serving in the Royal Navy. She was
an attractive woman who always wore a pleasant smile. Our normal
mode of dress for physical training was shorts; but this lady insisted we
wear gymslips, which to us seemed a bit feminine. She was previously
employed at a toffee-nosed girl’s school near London that was bombed
during an overnight raid by the Luftwaffe. The bigger boys seemed to get
a lot of attention from this lady, especially when they’d vault the box
horse and the gymslips would come adrift. Mrs Sheridan was eventually
fired for having it off with under-age boys. How sad.
My mother visited me at the school with her new husband during the
summer of 1940 when I was fourteen. I had last seen her when I was
nine. It would be another six years before I saw her again. I never found
out what happened to her other husband, as my mother was reluctant to
discuss the matter. After seeing the film “Arsenic and Old Lace,” I
wondered if he was buried in the cellar under the coal. Her new
husband, William Stanley Brown, who was three years her senior, stayed
with my mother until he passed away in March 1973. He was a
remarkable man, a saint of a person, a former Sick Berth Attendant in the
Royal Navy during WWI. My mother apparently possessed some
unusual hidden qualities because when they were together they seemed
content. I was now beginning to feel unrelated to my mother. I couldn’t
understand her long absences and had become accustomed to her
appearance every five years.
Part 2 Will be 'EMILY' Providing I receive sufficient demand.
Vest ....Back soon.
Monday, 6 June 2016
Words on Monday.
These Words are here to assist you or confuse you in your efforts to compose a short story. These words must be used entirely within your own story. This is not an original Idea but evolves from other frequently visited blogs from which I find Interesting. VEST..
Discussion.
Enjoying.
Quiet.
Officer..
Lethargy.
Radio.
Personnel.
Later in the day I shall write my short story involving these words. And here it is..
This short story is of my own making and relates to something I recall from the past Mid Sixties?
At Charleston South Carolina, I went ashore as the ships 'Limey' representative of the US Navy shore patrol. During a discussion, an American officer asked why I pronounced the rank of lieutenant 'Leftenant' and not Lootenant. "Both spell Lieutenant" I replied, But my pronunciation does not infer they live in Lavatories.
Later we attended a domestic dispute at a trailer park housing married US Navy personnel. On our arrival, a very angry person with a shot gun fired at us shattering the windshield of our truck. The driver then backed up and the police were called to sort out the mess. A few minor incidents occurred later before I returned to my ship in the early hours. When I arrived I was asked " How did things go". I replied, "It was a very quiet evening according to the Yanks"
A general feeling of lethargy and boredom was always present on that ship,Anyone denying this was probably enjoying life at my expense.
While in Devonport England, I would go on weekend leave to Portsmouth where I lived , travelling in a friends car, Another passenger in the car was our Ist LT a LT/Cmdr Much senior to me, who during the trip would ask awkward questions regarding the ship, I could tell that he wasn't amused with some of my replies, especially when I told him I was writing a radio play about the funny goings on aboard our ship, hopefully for the 'Goon" show.'. He replied "with you as its major performer, I have no doubt that it will be a great success" he replied.
''No doubt at all, with you sir, being the major character' I answered. Our driver then uttered a remark - something about sailing close to the wind. Fini.
This week I shall be posting a short story,one in many episodes involving Puppy love-war- Sex! travel.and more....If you are prudish or a wowser you had better not check it out. Bye for now
Discussion.
Enjoying.
Quiet.
Officer..
Lethargy.
Radio.
Personnel.
Later in the day I shall write my short story involving these words. And here it is..
This short story is of my own making and relates to something I recall from the past Mid Sixties?
At Charleston South Carolina, I went ashore as the ships 'Limey' representative of the US Navy shore patrol. During a discussion, an American officer asked why I pronounced the rank of lieutenant 'Leftenant' and not Lootenant. "Both spell Lieutenant" I replied, But my pronunciation does not infer they live in Lavatories.
Later we attended a domestic dispute at a trailer park housing married US Navy personnel. On our arrival, a very angry person with a shot gun fired at us shattering the windshield of our truck. The driver then backed up and the police were called to sort out the mess. A few minor incidents occurred later before I returned to my ship in the early hours. When I arrived I was asked " How did things go". I replied, "It was a very quiet evening according to the Yanks"
A general feeling of lethargy and boredom was always present on that ship,Anyone denying this was probably enjoying life at my expense.
While in Devonport England, I would go on weekend leave to Portsmouth where I lived , travelling in a friends car, Another passenger in the car was our Ist LT a LT/Cmdr Much senior to me, who during the trip would ask awkward questions regarding the ship, I could tell that he wasn't amused with some of my replies, especially when I told him I was writing a radio play about the funny goings on aboard our ship, hopefully for the 'Goon" show.'. He replied "with you as its major performer, I have no doubt that it will be a great success" he replied.
''No doubt at all, with you sir, being the major character' I answered. Our driver then uttered a remark - something about sailing close to the wind. Fini.
This week I shall be posting a short story,one in many episodes involving Puppy love-war- Sex! travel.and more....If you are prudish or a wowser you had better not check it out. Bye for now
Friday, 3 June 2016
Words For Friday
These Words are here to assist you or confuse you in your efforts to compose a short story. These words must be used entirely within your own story. This is not an original Idea but evolves from other frequently visited blogs from which I find Interesting. VEST..
CHICKEN.
UNDERSTANDING
ACCENT
PROTECTION
STUDENT
INSTINCT
ORDINARY
Go ahead, give it a go.
My genuine story follows.
BACK TO SCHOOL. W N T S IN THE THIRTIES
During school lessons, mild mannered schoolmaster Mr Fowler was flicked behind the ear with an ink shot from a rubber band, A boy named Crabby Harris did the job but somehow I got blamed, which resulted in me being whacked around the ear by Mr (Chicken) Fowler. After suffering enough, I jabbed a sharp nib pen up his rear end several times which stopped him beating me.
Mr Fowler was off sick for a few days and I was found Guilty and received four of the best from the headmaster.
When Mr Fowler returned I was moved up to 2 A class, Mr Stokes, the Master, was the Mr Chips of the school and revered by all
George Leatherhead, an accidental friend within 2 B class was a unusual boy and quite huge for a twelve year old, his deadpan face would study you and then he would move on. and the best way to stay on side with him was to be pleasantly polite. George was a nice boy, but easily led, he had a strange accent and his speech always ended in a blur, his understanding of the spoken word equaled his delivery, the only reason George was in 2 B was that the school didn't have a 2 C or 2 D.
George was very good at soccer, and when ever possible would hog the ball and kick everyone and anything that got in the way, he also had this 'White Knight" instinct, whereupon he would go to the assistance of the oppressed whenever necessary. It was about a week after the news Of Crabby Harris getting me into strife with Chook Fowler filtered through. to George. and as I was given a friend status by George he took it upon himself to beat the living daylights out of Crabby Harris.
George had no idea how to Box. explaining the rules to him fell on deaf ears, on one occasion in the boxing ring his opponent hit his face, so George head butted him and put the boot in, George when asked Why? he replied ' in his strange accent " youse its' mese Ise its youse back. later when the junior protection group was formed George was put to good use as the 'Hit man'.
Boy was it tough at that school.
Vest.... back soon.
CHICKEN.
UNDERSTANDING
ACCENT
PROTECTION
STUDENT
INSTINCT
ORDINARY
Go ahead, give it a go.
My genuine story follows.
BACK TO SCHOOL. W N T S IN THE THIRTIES
During school lessons, mild mannered schoolmaster Mr Fowler was flicked behind the ear with an ink shot from a rubber band, A boy named Crabby Harris did the job but somehow I got blamed, which resulted in me being whacked around the ear by Mr (Chicken) Fowler. After suffering enough, I jabbed a sharp nib pen up his rear end several times which stopped him beating me.
Mr Fowler was off sick for a few days and I was found Guilty and received four of the best from the headmaster.
When Mr Fowler returned I was moved up to 2 A class, Mr Stokes, the Master, was the Mr Chips of the school and revered by all
George Leatherhead, an accidental friend within 2 B class was a unusual boy and quite huge for a twelve year old, his deadpan face would study you and then he would move on. and the best way to stay on side with him was to be pleasantly polite. George was a nice boy, but easily led, he had a strange accent and his speech always ended in a blur, his understanding of the spoken word equaled his delivery, the only reason George was in 2 B was that the school didn't have a 2 C or 2 D.
George was very good at soccer, and when ever possible would hog the ball and kick everyone and anything that got in the way, he also had this 'White Knight" instinct, whereupon he would go to the assistance of the oppressed whenever necessary. It was about a week after the news Of Crabby Harris getting me into strife with Chook Fowler filtered through. to George. and as I was given a friend status by George he took it upon himself to beat the living daylights out of Crabby Harris.
George had no idea how to Box. explaining the rules to him fell on deaf ears, on one occasion in the boxing ring his opponent hit his face, so George head butted him and put the boot in, George when asked Why? he replied ' in his strange accent " youse its' mese Ise its youse back. later when the junior protection group was formed George was put to good use as the 'Hit man'.
Boy was it tough at that school.
Vest.... back soon.
Thursday, 2 June 2016
Meow
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