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Walking leo around the Point

It was a dull day, but we had a good time.

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When it's raining sometimes colour is the only way to go, this is my latest piece of art.

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Hunt for my dog Leo

Looking for Leo, our dog, to go for his walk. Yay! I've found him.

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Please take care of Ant McPartlin. Remember that we’re all responsible for this world we’ve created.

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Ears Have Walls

My second book of short stories "Ears Have Walls" is out now on Amazon and ebook. With a mix of crime, the supernatural, and dark humour this collection has something to suit everyone.  

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When I looked in the mirror I saw something else. Happy Halloween!

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Just to let you know that I wrote about a special family day spent in Kilbroney park with the added breaks of Haiku poems.  

The Yew Tree

The mist rained down over the mountains, and as we walked through Kilbroney Park, I spoke to my brother, Peter and his wife, Debbie about my latest writing. They had recently arrived from completing a short tour through Europe; mainly Germany, the Black Forest, Zurich and Dublin. Quite fittingly the subject in discussion was all about trees. And whilst explaining more about the project I was working on, we picked up fallen cupules off the Sweet Chestnut Tree. Until making our way further up the hill, and across the main path, I handed my brother the small map I’d been given of the tree trail.

Stopping in Freisburg we ate Black Forest Gateau and had a coffee

 ‘The particular tree I’m looking for now,’ I said, ‘is the yew.’  ‘Okay,’ he nodded, then turning right, we walked on towards the small carpark.  ‘Are you sure you know which way we’re going?’ I asked.  He looked offended.  ‘Don’t worry,’ Debbie said, ‘he’s very good at reading instructions.’ I laughed. I don’t know what it is about men and maps (maybe something from a past childhood) but a lot of them seem to have the explorer in them.  Next, it was my daughter, Rachel’s turn to react. When as if by magic we arrived at the small carpark and Peter showed, on the map, what was described as the yew tree I was searching for. However, Debbie wasn’t so sure. She then described how the leaves were different to any yew tree she’d seen before. Then again, there are many variations of the tree: such as the Irish Yew (also called the “golden yew”) which has yellow leaves: its Latin name is Taxus baccata Fastigiata. Whilst, the one I was patiently looking at was just the Taxus baccata or English Yew. As well as these there are many others which are found grown throughout the Northern hemisphere.

Trees on either side we walk through Kilbroney Park searching for the yew

 Cautiously, I touch the leaves of the yew. Only to discover it also had to entwine Elderberry leaves. I wasn’t sure what that was all about mixed in with the branches. When the next of it a further discussion started up about the many different properties found.  ‘It’s poisonous,’ I said.  ‘Yes,’ Debbie answered, ‘and yet nature is marvelous how it looks after itself. You know, with reproduction and all that. Did you know that birds can eat the red berries? Although, they must be careful not to eat the seeds. These lie in the bird’s stomach. It is then through digestion the seeds come out in their droppings and that’s how the yew is pollinated. Of course! The tree can be deadly to farm animals and especially horses.’

Mixed in with branches poisonous seeds and berries feed the hungry birds

Rachel then interrupted. I think she was getting into Halloween mode.  ‘The leaves are more toxic than the seeds,’ she said.  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘in fact, the famous sleuth writer, Agatha Christie, used the yew in one of her novels called A Pocket Full of Rye when poisoning her first victim. The main part of the story was actually set in a place called Yew Tree lodge.’  ‘The yew is grown in many churchyards throughout Britain,’ Rachel carried on, a touch annoyed that I might be going off track. ‘Not to mention cemeteries since ancient times,’ she animated with splaying hands, ‘spirally finger branches found in many village squares point the way to death and life on the other side.’  Strangely, as she said this, a strong breeze got up and brushed over us. Peter let out a roar of laughter.  ‘Romanticism,’ he scoffed and gave Rachel a shove.

Ghosts at Halloween display spirally fingers touching village squares

 ‘Sometimes, monks planted them in their cloisters,’ I said, trying to add a positive note about some medicines known and related to the tree.  ‘Suddenly, Peter’s face lit up, ‘wait he said, ‘I meant to show you this.’  He then got out his mobile phone with his eldest daughter’s name held on an email. We all gathered around and I read out the words, Dr. Claire Taylor.  I gasped, ‘What?’  ‘Yes,’ he said, and Debbie hung onto his arm, ‘It’s official, our daughter Claire has just qualified as a doctor. We will be flying home to New Zealand at the end of the year for her graduation.’  ‘No pressure on me then,’ Rachel laughed. Herself just completed her GCSE’s and gone back to school to do her A-levels.  The friendly banter continued, until kicking up leaves, we followed her along the next path towards the Narnia trail.    

Medicinal tree we reach the end of the road trailing autumn leaves

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A walk through the park in autumn. There’s nothing like it. The trees, the coloured leaves, and something expectant about to happen.

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The Yew Tree

The mist rained down over the mountains, and as we walked through Kilbroney Park, I spoke to my brother, Peter and his wife, Debbie about my latest writing. They had recently arrived from completing a short tour through Europe; mainly Germany, the Black Forest, Zurich and Dublin. Quite fittingly the subject in discussion was all about trees. And whilst explaining more about the project I was working on, we picked up fallen cupules off the Sweet Chestnut Tree. Until making our way further up the hill, and across the main path, I handed my brother the small map I’d been given of the tree trail.

Stopping in Freisburg we ate Black Forest Gateau and had a coffee

 ‘The particular tree I’m looking for now,’ I said, ‘is the yew.’  ‘Okay,’ he nodded, then turning right, we walked on towards the small carpark.  ‘Are you sure you know which way we’re going?’ I asked.  He looked offended.  ‘Don’t worry,’ Debbie said, ‘he’s very good at reading instructions.’ I laughed. I don’t know what it is about men and maps (maybe something from a past childhood) but a lot of them seem to have the explorer in them.  Next, it was my daughter, Rachel’s turn to react. When as if by magic we arrived at the small carpark and Peter showed, on the map, what was described as the yew tree I was searching for. However, Debbie wasn’t so sure. She then described how the leaves were different to any yew tree she’d seen before. Then again, there are many variations of the tree: such as the Irish Yew (also called the “golden yew”) which has yellow leaves: its Latin name is Taxus baccata Fastigiata. Whilst, the one I was patiently looking at was just the Taxus baccata or English Yew. As well as these there are many others which are found grown throughout the Northern hemisphere.

Trees on either side we walk through Kilbroney Park searching for the yew

 Cautiously, I touch the leaves of the yew. Only to discover it also had to entwine Elderberry leaves. I wasn’t sure what that was all about mixed in with the branches. When the next of it a further discussion started up about the many different properties found.  ‘It’s poisonous,’ I said.  ‘Yes,’ Debbie answered, ‘and yet nature is marvelous how it looks after itself. You know, with reproduction and all that. Did you know that birds can eat the red berries? Although, they must be careful not to eat the seeds. These lie in the bird’s stomach. It is then through digestion the seeds come out in their droppings and that’s how the yew is pollinated. Of course! The tree can be deadly to farm animals and especially horses.’

Mixed in with branches poisonous seeds and berries feed the hungry birds

Rachel then interrupted. I think she was getting into Halloween mode.  ‘The leaves are more toxic than the seeds,’ she said.  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘in fact, the famous sleuth writer, Agatha Christie, used the yew in one of her novels called A Pocket Full of Rye when poisoning her first victim. The main part of the story was actually set in a place called Yew Tree lodge.’  ‘The yew is grown in many churchyards throughout Britain,’ Rachel carried on, a touch annoyed that I might be going off track. ‘Not to mention cemeteries since ancient times,’ she animated with splaying hands, ‘spirally finger branches found in many village squares point the way to death and life on the other side.’  Strangely, as she said this, a strong breeze got up and brushed over us. Peter let out a roar of laughter.  ‘Romanticism,’ he scoffed and gave Rachel a shove.

Ghosts at Halloween display spirally fingers touching village squares

 ‘Sometimes, monks planted them in their cloisters,’ I said, trying to add a positive note about some medicines known and related to the tree.  ‘Suddenly, Peter’s face lit up, ‘wait he said, ‘I meant to show you this.’  He then got out his mobile phone with his eldest daughter’s name held on an email. We all gathered around and I read out the words, Dr. Claire Taylor.  I gasped, ‘What?’  ‘Yes,’ he said, and Debbie hung onto his arm, ‘It’s official, our daughter Claire has just qualified as a doctor. We will be flying home to New Zealand at the end of the year for her graduation.’  ‘No pressure on me then,’ Rachel laughed. Herself just completed her GCSE’s and gone back to school to do her A-levels.  The friendly banter continued, until kicking up leaves, we followed her along the next path towards the Narnia trail.    

Medicinal tree we reach the end of the road trailing autumn leaves

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Hello, everyone! Happy World Book Day. My book is called “Haunting Tales” and you can buy it on Amazon. 

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Warrenpoint Park

At the far end of the park sounded the sea; brown, copper and green; gathered the leaves. The dog paved the rest of the way until one line became doubled. What we see is in the eye of the mind. The daffodil shoots were getting ready to bud. Still, my hands are cold where black lattice framed the wide open space. A stranger approached and patted the dog. He wore a red collar framing his white, honey and black fur. The far borders scribbled a false clue to what made the entire park exciting. Up ahead of us a most entertaining narrative of fiction was the empty tennis court waiting for the season to change and a new game played.  The gate on the band stand was open with a principle member of the garden party. He seemed marred by the tragic event of expectation. Overhead there was the faint chattering of birds when suddenly the trees became louder. As if addicted by drugs late afternoon gripped the rest of the damp air. The dog barked and trotted on. His little feet were wet from the puddles.

‘Lovely little thing,’ said the stranger.

‘Yes. Thank you,’ I said.

 Mid way through the park we walked. Stopping in between shards of splintered wood scattered around a small holly bush. It smelt of the earth. In the distance smells leaked from local shops which soon changed places with the idea of warmth. It’s time to get home for hot tea and biscuits. Crossing over the main road the traffic lights gave off a high pitch squeal.

 At home I let the dog off its lead and he ran around the garden. He smelt of fresh air and rain. The light stretched to evening shadows and highlighted a small windmill. Lay silent in stone. I bent down and lifted a golden leaf. In leaps and bounds the budding has started.

‘Spring is just around the corner.’    

Through the front door we walked. A triangle of noise had showed us the way back ‘Listen you can almost hear it.’

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Narrow Water

We knocked on the door of the stately home but no one came. During the summer my brother and his family played the virgin game of visiting their first castle. It was excellent. But for now, my mind was somewhere else. A cat ran across my feet and gave out a loud meow. They’re the ones the pr-elitist will pick to walk around the grounds, inside, and under the door. From the nearing surround, I heard a warm humming which appeared to be coming from an engine shed. Buckled leaves with burnished copper centered the cat as it brushed its tail. Somewhere there was food cooking? Through the mist, I thought I saw a figure wearing a thin white dress. He said that visitors were not allowed.

 ‘My brother and his family stayed here,’ I said.

Following the mysterious figure we walked on and arrived at the side of the front building. There was a low green and red door fronting other outhouses. One of which was sloshing water. The late afternoon was ice cold and drizzling with rain. No one would answer any of the bloody doors.  A dark brown, spongy coat, another man was wearing. I called out to him.

  ‘We want a photograph of a blue knight in shiny armour.’

 There was no answer.

 But from around about the place was a sense of foreboding. You were being watched. The yard reminded one of servant quarters being filmed on a big estate. Black boulders tethered shoe rests. I heard a clanking together of horseshoe tackle. They raved about the place.

 ‘We want pictures for my daughter’s GCSE project -- not fog.’

 Still, there was no answer.

 We walked on feeling defeated.

 Back at the front door I pressed the bell and got a dull thud. Hard and smooth I pushed the buzzer again. To the left, the window above us had a light on. Still twenty years behind the rest of the world. To the right from where we stood was a dirt path. A bit further down and towards the hills someone was walking the dogs. A car arrived on the driveway. The driver saw us. She did a three point turn and drove off. Chipped paint from 1980 behavior makes science practically unheard of when chewing toffees to keep warm. So much for the friendly viewing of Narrow Water Castle…?

 Through a scattering of trees, we saw a man or lady that made your teeth chatter. There’s nothing like late afternoon light on a winter’s day for triggering off the imagination. We walked out of the grounds and crossed the main road to the other part of Narrow Water. I stood staring out at the eerie landscape. The tide was out and the day nearly gone. When something tepid caught the side of my ear? Click! Focusing the window of my camera I photographed the haunting sea. There was only a skirmish of puddles.

A white car was parked to the side of a lane road. Engine oil…I saw was marred with an industrial stairway. Stilled, the strangeness now touched the back of my neck. I turned towards the brittle grasses which swayed like willow cane. Out of the shadows, something moved. I thought I heard a quiet laugh. All of a sudden my camera clicked off. I then looked down and saw where a small footprint had left its mark.  

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A Christmas Story

 They didn’t realize how much they hurt Bernice when they handed over the job of mother. So instead she concentrated on the grandchildren. Alistair lied to her and they all believed him. She can’t understand why she didn’t reply. She just wanted to be left alone to write. Her heart filled with pride when she watched the children opening their Christmas presents. The rush of air that brought in so many ghosts, snowmen in the garden; and the snow lay all around. It’s all Christmas trees and lights. That’s the point of an untold story. Tomato soup with warm wheaten bread was also a winter favorite. Followed by turkey and roast potatoes hit the spot.

 ‘It’s cold outside and the snow is falling,’ he said, ‘close the door on your way out.’

 ‘Against tomorrow is a new day?’ she questioned, ‘don’t let the wrong word cripple you from the right. If I could count all the gifts I’ve received over the years…’ the rest of her words got lost in the sounds of red jingle bells playing.

 ‘All you did was publish a book,’ he wanted to answer, ‘it happens in most small villages and towns. Your English improved and you left us behind and moved on.’

 She blew warmth into her hands.

 ‘Your books are damp but warm.’

 ‘I must go and visit my mother,’ she whispered.

 She wore an expensive fragrance. He could smell the softness of her. One street is just like any other when going back to childhood. Who doesn’t love Christmas shopping? Was it because she’d worn her new coat? Never mind! Put on your Christmas jumper and smile. So many CD’s advertising words unspoken. Bernice left her son’s Christmas card on the mantel and walked out.      

95QV ���u�

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I wonder what the whales think about Trump becoming President of America. I'd stay far out to sea if I were them. Hi! to Herman Melville and Moby-Dick!

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I was walking along the beach front and passed a row of bare trees. As I continued a huge black crow landed on each tree.The air was silent and Hitchcockesque. When I got home I discovered our dog had killed a bird. He was dragging its remains around the garden. I was glad to get back inside.

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A short tale for Halloween:

She looked through her window. He waited. His eyes red from crying. She descended the stairs to meet him. Outside, he held her in his caress and breathed fire into her. The blood poured from her neck. Until finally Dracula lifted her into his arms and flew back to his castle.  

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This is the interview I did for my new book Haunting Tales on QRadio with Kevin McAllister. I hope you enjoy.