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[djn72]

The Abbey

The 15th century abbey is perhaps one of the undiscovered gems in terms of Gothic architecture. The boundary walls enclosing the main buildings of the abbey constitute about four acres with the chapel settled at one corner. To call it a chapel is an understatement, it is one of the finest Churches of the land and comparable in style to that of Lincoln or Lichfield. The reverend mother is custodian of the abbey; however, the abbot Geoffrey Powell is provided the task of giving the Sunday services to the public.

The other buildings consist of the reception house of the convent where the great hall is situated for functions, as well as other offices, the refectory and the library. There are the quarters where the nuns and novices sleep and work. There is also the orphanage linked close by to the quarters where the children, of which there are currently fourteen with ages ranging from 2 to 13 years old, are located. 

A small farm containing cows - for milk - and chickens is situated at the rear of the quarters close to the extensive convent gardens from which all manner of herbs, salads and vegetables are cultivated. The sisters and novices are tasked with maintaining these amenities and they do it with passion. Perhaps more so when the weather is calm. Often a small plot of land is permitted to a sister or novice for personal use such as for planting flowers or growing unusual vegetables which are not required on a frequent basis. The tallest sunflowers grown in the summer is a competition which often takes place. 

*****

With luncheon over, sister Josephine awaits the new arrivals. It is not long before the gatekeeper telephones through and permission is given for a car to enter the abbey confines. The black sedan dawdles towards the orphanage entrance where the sister and some of her colleagues are waiting. 

The car halts and a woman exits the car with a baby clothed and contained in a pink soft cotton blanket which was necessary as the weather was quite cool. A man also exits the car on the opposite side with another baby wrapped in a blue blanket and joins the woman and they both approach the reception party.

[djn72]

Progeny?

I’ll have to change the title of my story. I see that Progeny is popular now.

[djn72]

The Abbey

Sister Josephine was doing her usual morning duties before luncheon. As housekeeper, one of her requirements was to organise the orphanage. This was part of the convent in which she happily resided and a large part of the duties of the religious order was to nurture and sustain all the orphans who had come into their establishment. Sister Jo, as she is referred to by some of the other sisters - though not by the reverend mother or the novices - was a happy nun. She being only 5’ 3” was not the tallest of the order but she could use that to her advantage when she had to squeeze into tight places. She was slim and wore the usual black habit and wimple but often you could see her sleeves rolled up when she was doing some duty that required it; perhaps in the convent garden. Her face was kindly but she was not the youngest looking. If you were able to see her hair then you would notice the signs of grey and there was a little pimple on her right cheek. Her teeth were however close to perfect and when she smiled she projected a happy, contented feeling amongst the others in the order as well as the orphan children who came to stay.

There was one admission today which Sister Josephine had to prepare for and so she readied the nursery of the orphanage for the new additions. This would be baby twins she was told. Information was usually slow to get to her especially when transfers were done in short time-frames. The babies would be arriving after luncheon and so things would have to be ready beforehand. With the cot in order she dashed to her chamber to wash and prepare to meet the other sisters.

The prayer was given by Sister Theresa, a - shall we say - more experienced nun who seemed to be set in her often old-fashioned ways. ‘Lord, we give thanks for the food that you have provided us here this afternoon and may we take sustenance from it. Lord, bless us and keep us. Amen.’

The luncheon consisted of bread and cheese made at the Abbey together with a selection of salads and vegetables from the convent gardens. They ate in silence. It was unusual not to see the reverend mother at luncheon there but matters had come to her attention concerning the imminent arrival and she found that time was not on her side. However, she expressed her apologies for her absence and was given provisions in her chambers.

[djn72]

Chapter 4 (excerpt) The Progeny

Brandishing a sharp knife he was going to defend himself if the intruder got close. Hidden behind the closed door of his study, Phillip Carlson was ready to strike. The sweat on his brow, the adrenaline and his accelerated heart rate readied him further for an attack. From the interior, Phillip could see the handle of the study door move slowly anticlockwise and then the door opened slowly until it was perpendicular to its frame. The intruder crept inward and Phillip raised his knife quietly without a breath. As the intruder came into view, Phillip was beginning to bring the knife down. 

‘Dad!’ came the intruder’s remark.

Phillip closed his eyes as he realised that he nearly thrust the knife into his son Jack.

[djn72]

The Progeny - Chapter 1 (excerpt) - An Orphan

This is an excerpt from Chapter 1 of The Progeny I am writing. I’m doing it mainly for fun but please feel free to make suggestions. Chapter 2 is drafted and I’m now on Chapter 3 which is giving me some serious problems but hey...   enjoy (I hope)!

#######

This journey begins in a maternity hospital where a mother is in labour and is giving birth to her first baby. The pain, intense and rhythmical, was too much for her to bear. It was like an explosion in her body after being struck by lightning many times to the beat of a drum. The midwives are clinging to the emerging head of the baby whilst the mother is breathing frantically to keep from fainting. She won’t faint though because the pain is too great. She summons up her energy for one final push. She screams again and with enormous effort the baby comes out attached to its cord; a quick slap or shake and the high pitched crying of the baby signified the end of her ordeal and the beginning of her life as a mother. 

Wait. The mother feels faint all of a sudden as if a huge wave of sleep has infected her, passing through her veins. Her heart is a flutter and it is then that she starts to convulse; blood seeps from her nose as well as other orifices. Bells ring and emergency measures are brought in to see what the hell has happened to her. She is attached to a heart monitor and the beeping is erratic and slow until suddenly she flat-lines. 

‘Get that baby out of here!’ shouts the resident senior doctor who swept in as fast as he could and started to apply chest massage to resuscitate the mother. The signs were not good and reluctantly after about ten minutes of effort to revive her the senior pronounced the mother dead.

#######

[djn72]

The Progeny

Chapter 1 is drafted and I need to dissect further the Part One story line; but things are going in the right direction. At least for now...

[djn72]

Shame the knight is on the centre square.. he would then have possibilities.

What am I saying?.. It’s a joke!!

[djn72]

A Mystery

I plan to write a sort of a mystery story. I’m not sure how long it will be but I hope to put the WIP (which I assume is an acronym for ‘work in progress’) here. 

Loosely, it is based on a biological science theme and I have written some of the first parts of a synopsis. 

Once I have it outlined clearly in my mind I’ll begin to share parts of it with you.

Wish me luck everyone!

[djn72]

The Cafe

Lucy sat waiting in the café at the train station ready for her meeting. Announcements came through regularly for Birmingham, Liverpool, Bournemouth and Penzance. It was evening time and the platforms were busy with people and noisy with engines. She had her rose pinned nicely to her lapel and she pondered the surroundings. Some might call the café old-fashioned, but she would call it quaint; characterful. The patterned tiles adorning the walls were crackle glazed but pretty; and the chandelier lighting from above reminded her this place had history. The tables were cloaked in white cloths, upon which were various condiments and sugar shakers. She waited, but not for long. Here he comes through the door which jingled as he entered. His rose signified conclusively his identity; James was tall, blue eyed, blonde haired and wore a smart checkered jacket upon which shone the red rose. He looked around the café, but it didn’t take long for him to glimpse the matching rose. His approach was steady, and she stood to greet him. He moved to kiss her on the cheek and whispered his pleasure in seeing her. A waiter approached and James ordered drinks. They smiled at each other, perhaps with a little blush on Lucy’s cheeks as their eyes met. The Martinis came and the waiter set them on the table delicately. The cherries’ colour matched their roses and they sipped their Martinis slowly. After a little chat - and on finishing their drinks - they stood, thanked the waiter and went on to the Theatre, the door jingling as they left. The waiter smiled warmly, picked up the empty Martini glasses, and then went about his business.

[djn72]

Chess stuff.. and found a nice 2 move mate here? 

.

Hoy aprendí el concepto básico de la defensa Holandesa, me parece una gran apuesta por parte de las piezas negras si es que se enfrentan a las blancas iniciando con peón d.4

Mí primer sensación con esta defensa es que la veo como una gran apuesta, ya que todo depende de que el blanco no tenga bien en claro como operar contra está defensa, es decir, la jugada de peón negro f.5 ya deja muy en claro las intenciones y si el blanco sabe cómo tomar medidas el negro puede correr apuros. Pero si el blanco tiene neblinas de como manejarce el negro puede explotar el centro y lograr buenos resultados.

Está partida que se llevó a cabo entre L. Palau y J. Nollman deja ver una buena experiencia de la Holandesa por la cual aprender. Además de dejar prominente un mate en dos jugadas por parte del blanco

.

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[djn72]

Lilies of the Valleys

    “Jay, are you awake? Come on, wake up. There we are, love.” Peter had the broth ready cooked but left it to cool a bit so that she could manage it. The bed provided by the hospital didn’t match well in the living room of their bungalow, but it was easier to manoeuvre when she needed to sit upright to eat. Peter just had to press a button now, whereas before he had to arrange pillows. He spoons a small mouthful of broth to her lips and she receives it, moving her tongue and making a tutting sound as if she were sucking a pear drop. He had to be careful not to spill anything on her fresh nightie. She swallows another mouthful and Peter slowly wipes her mouth with the edge of a clean hanky. She can only manage a little at a time, so Peter sits and gently holds her frail hand and often talks about their life together.

     “Do you remember Daisy? You remember Daisy don’t you love? She was in the Co-op today and she asked after you. She mentioned she turned eighty-five last Saturday, I said Jay’s eighty-six tomorrow and she remembered; yes, she remembered.” He paused and put the dish on the bedside table and looked at his wife for a glint that she remembered Daisy too. “Her Geoffrey is suffering with his hips she said, but she is fine. She’ll be round to see you. Yes.” Peter uses the hanky to clean his glasses; a clean bit so that it doesn’t smudge the lenses too much. He then carefully replaces them, making sure his mildly trembling hands don’t cause him an accident. She doesn’t know yet; not yet, that he has Parkinson’s disease, albeit the early stages.

     “The doctor’s coming tomorrow Jay, to check you over.” Peter slightly raises his voice in the hope that she understands. Although it is a gradual process, it’s still a tricky thing to come to terms with. She has occasional lucid moments when she smiles at something you say and it makes it all worthwhile because it means she remembers a little bit.

     “Do you remember when we met, love? At the choir? You were with Daisy in the middle row. I was at the back in the bass section. You had a beautiful voice. I asked you afterwards if you wanted to go to the pictures to see ‘Brief Encounter’. You said you’ll see, but you went with me, didn’t you?” Peter smiled as he thought of all the places they had been courting. She was beautiful then, young, happy and eventually in the Brecon Beacons, on the field near the top of Sugarloaf Mountain, he knelt down on one knee and proposed. Of course, she couldn’t say no because she knew he was the one. The only one for her.

     “Ginnie will be round soon. I think the bag needs changing. It’s good of them to come round so often. Don’t know what we’d do without them. Was the soup nice? I’ll finish it off if you like. There’s plenty in anyway.” Peter smoothes his wife’s brow and white hair. “Ooh, you’re a bit warm love.” He takes the dish into the kitchen and then soaks a flannel under the cold tap, wrings it, and comes back into the living room. He places the cooling towel on her forehead. “Is that better dear?”

      The front door goes and Ginnie walks in. “Hi Peter, how are you darling?” She comes over and puts a compartment tray of tablets on the bedside table. ”She should have enough now ‘til next week. Hi Jayne, it’s only me, love.” Ginnie does all the necessaries; changing the ‘leg-bag’, and doing personal duties. Peter makes Ginnie a coffee whilst she does all this. There’s only so much he can do and Ginnie is marvellous. “What would we do without you Gin’?” Peter brings the coffee through carefully; the NHS mug two-thirds full so as to avoid spillage. “Aw, lovely darling. Just what I need. How’s she been today?” Peter tells her that she’s had some soup and they were chatting about Daisy and that it’s Jay’s birthday coming up tomorrow. Ginnie does some tidying of the kitchen and hoovers a little before she sets off. “I’ll be in to check on things in the morning, love. Is there anything you or Jay need before I go Peter?” “No, love. You’ve been marvellous as usual Gin’. Shall I see you out?” “No love, I can manage.” She smiles warmly at them and makes her way out.

     It’s summertime, and the flowers are growing again in the garden. “The lilies are nearly blooming love. They’ll be ready in a week or so. Do you remember the lilies at our wedding? They’ve always been our favourite.” Peter recollects the wedding clearly at their local church in Abergavenny, Monmouthshire. Luckily he had a job in the local mine which would have delayed their vows had he not started. Many of his family and friends were in attendance as were those of his wife to be. It was a beautiful, serene ceremony; the crescendo being the 'I do's'; the exchanging of rings, and the final adoring kiss cementing their relationship forever.

     The phone rings and Peter picks up the receiver; it's their daughter June ringing to see how they are doing. 

Funny contribution from friend JR:

     “Hi dad”, bubbled June, “just phoning to see how you and mum are doing. I’ve been thinking about you all week and wondering how you both are. Love you.”

     “Oh June, thank you dear. It’s lovely to hear your voice. Your mum and I are just fine. She’s just had some French onion soup - without croutons - and Ginnie’s been round again and has been her usual saintly self. Don’t know what we’d do without that diamond of a girl, she’s one of God’s own. Your mum’s sitting up now with a broad smile on her face. I think she must know you’re on the phone. She mentioned you earlier, or at least I think it was you, she mumbled something anyway...... Oh bollocks...”

     Peter’s Parkinson’s suddenly intensified and, trembling violently, he dropped the receiver, juggling it in vain a few times before it crashed to the floor, smashing a vase full of lilies conveniently situated in the room for the sake of advancing the narrative. Bending down to retrieve it from the faded Arabesque carpet, he grimaced in pain as his back gave out with a sonorous click.

     “Oh God June, love, my back’s gone again. It’s agony !”, he cried.

     “Dad, just relax and don’t panic. Find your way to your seat and keep calm. I won’t hang up, don’t you worry. You just get yourself seated, dad. I’m here for you.”

     Peter, bent over almost at right angles to the floor, lurched his way agonisingly slowly over to an armchair and collapsed into it’s redeeming embrace.

     “Oh June love,” he sobbed, “I don’t think I can get back up out of this chair now and I’ve just realised I’ve left the bloody stove on. I forgot to light it before I answered the phone. The whole room is full of bloody gas. Our lucky vase with the lilies is smashed, too. Had it sixty years”.

     “Dad, just keep calm. How far away from the stove are you? Can you turn it off from where you are? If you can’t manage then I’ll ring the fire brigade. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. Everything will be fine, I’m at least twenty percent confident of that.”

     “No love, I’m at least fifteen feet away. I’m beginning to feel a bit woozy now. Your mum’s unconscious I think. I’m not thinking clearly. I can see strawberries in the air and a giant badger is approaching me holding out a packet of Embassy Regal and a Bic lighter. Time for a fag I reckon...”

-KABOOM-

     Some years later and a tearful daughter walks along the path clutching a bunch of lilies looking intently until she finds the right one. She stops and reads what it says:

     Here lies Jayne Hilda Jones nee Wilford (b 28 July 1926; d 28 July 2012) who filled hearts with joy and happiness. Most beloved wife of Peter James Henry Jones (b 6 October 1925; d 31 July 2012). My broken heart beats fast to see you true; When once I said the words to you 'I do'; But off you went above the clouds so high; and now I join my Jay above the sky.

[djn72]

A Little Bit of Pickle

Chapters III to VI

III

On returning home, she felt warmed by the kindness of the Mother Superior and the Sisters whom, for some reason, always felt calm and happy. Whilst the Church service made her feel somewhat uplifted, it was back to normality as, yet again, she presented her key to the blue door and entered.

Joe was out, probably playing Snooker at the pub and drinking his fill with his friends. Maybe he was lucky yesterday and decided to celebrate; but, she didn’t get any benefit from it. The dire situation she found herself in wouldn't get any better, it seemed.

At about 6pm, she heard the door slam and footsteps grew louder on the stone tiles of the hallway as Joe approached the kitchen.

‘What’s for dinner?’ he grunted.

‘Cheese omelette and chips.’ she replied getting the chip pan out of the cupboard. 

It didn’t take long for her to prepare the ‘elaborate’ meal. She made sure he had the bigger portion on a bigger plate to pacify him, as she preferred. 

‘What’s this on the side?’ he remarked.

‘It’s only a little bit of pickle.’ she said without saying where it had come from.

He remained silent and ate his dinner without any fuss. In fact, when he had finished he licked the pickle that remained on his knife and fork with pure delight.

‘Nice pickle, love.’ he said curtly before retiring to the living room to watch ‘the box’.

IV

It was a few weeks later when she noticed a change. It wasn’t a sudden change but rather a gradual lift of the mood in the house. Never before had Joe worn anything but some baggy pants and vest around the place; but, now he seemed to have smartened himself up and started to iron clothes, shave, and make himself more presentable.

It was not only that; also, he had actually brought Marie breakfast in bed on a tray carrying a tumbler containing a brightly coloured flower. In fact, the way he treated her lately was ‘respectful’, ‘considerate’ and ‘kind’ and comparing his demeanour before and after was tantamount to night and day.

The shock to Marie of such a change in her husband’s behaviour was too much for her to grasp, and concerning at the same time. 

What had caused this change? She wondered.

Looking back she could see that this now resembled the man she first met 14 years ago, when she was still young and innocent; as was he.

V

At luncheon, the Mother Superior was sat at a large table in the Refectory surrounded by the other Sisters eating, in silence, a meal consisting of bread and cheese with an assortment of salads grown in the Convent garden. There was, in addition, the tangy pickle that, this time, was presented in bowls around the table. The Sisters were tucking into their meal, placing large blobs of the pickle on their cheese and licking their lips gleefully with each mouthful.

If only they knew, the Mother Superior thought to herself.

VI

The front door slams and a patter of feet quickly make it to the kitchen whereupon Joe finds Marie cooking a meal.

‘How was your first day?’ she asks.

‘Great, love. They showed me what to do. I know it’s just packing biscuits but there’s a lot to it with all the machines.’ 

‘Tea’s ready. Burger and chips.’ she smiles warmly knowing how nervous he was before he went to work this morning. She puts the plate on the table with the jar of pickle. He glances at the jar.

‘We need to get some more, love. It’s nearly gone.’ he says opening the jar.

‘Oh, I’ll try to get some more in the morning. You eat your tea, now. You need your energy after a hard day.’ she said thinking about how she will approach the Reverend Mother. 

She adds, ‘Early night tonight, you need to be up bright and early tomorrow.’

He smiled at that, then he looked at her and gave a surreptitious wink. Immediately she recognised his intention.

[djn72]

A Little Bit of Pickle

Chapters I and II

I

The crisp, cold air circulated her bony body, despite being thickly clad in an autumnal looking coat and a woollen scarf wrapped like a noose around her neck. Perhaps a noose would be appropriate, as her mood was not far away from implementing an action that would require one. She walked briskly home after her duties at Mrs Williams’ home. Marie Bunting was not a cleaner by trade; but, to make ends meet, she took up the position. Mrs Williams was a formidable dragon who never missed a trick, and managed Marie as though she was an incompetent. 

She halted as she reached her blue front door centred in a row of terraced houses. Fitting the key, she entered and called out,

‘Joe, are you in?’

Although there was no response, she knew he was in. Joe Bunting was vegetating in the living room engrossed in watching his local footy team, United, on TV. Her husband was out of work and out of luck, after gambling most of her hard earned money on the horses in the hope of winning enough to pay the bills. He was a spender; whilst she was thrifty. The pub was his second home and he was not averse to a curry afterwards with his friends. He pulled open another beer and took a few swigs.

‘What’s for tea, love?’ he finally said as she entered the room.

‘Egg, chips and beans.’ she replied with a quiver in her voice, wondering if he is in a good mood.

The bruises on her arms had now cleared; yes, she preferred him in a good mood. It was payday yesterday, and he borrowed his usual twenty quid from her. No doubt, he would need reminding for it back if he won something; which, in the past she knew she would regret, particularly if he lost the bet. She lived and managed his aggression by pacifying him, letting him get away with his abusive treatment when he got drunk. She often hid in the bedroom when he was out too long.

For years they had tried for a baby, which she desperately wanted, but it hadn’t happened. She wanted to have it checked out by the Doctor, but he hated the ‘Quacks’. 

So, the misery, hate, abuse, depression and loneliness continued and no end seemed in sight. 

II

It is Sunday morning and Marie prepared herself for Church. She stemmed from Catholic origins; although, she wouldn’t class herself as devout. She prayed quite often, particularly in terms of the circumstances in which she finds herself with her husband at home. She would go to the Church and sit in a rear pew and pray for forgiveness; you see she blamed herself for the situation she was in. She blamed herself for her husband’s manner.

It happens that the Church is attached to a Convent which is overseen by the Reverend Mother. The Nuns attend the service but sit in the choir stalls and sing hymns at the appropriate times. The service at the church was solemn and reverent. Often you could see Marie with a tear in her eye as the Nuns sing, and she wishes her situation would be different.

The service over, the congregation, of which there was about thirty, made their way out. On doing so, Marie was stopped by the Mother Superior who was swathed in her black habit. 

‘How are you my child?’ 

‘I am well.’ responded Marie who found it difficult to keep eye contact with the Mother Superior.

‘I have something for you, my dear.’ 

From inside her habit she produced a jar.

‘Here is a little something for you Marie. It is a little pickle I made to a very old secret recipe. You know, I think of you as a loyal and supportive member of the Church and so I made this for you. Beware though, it has a very interesting flavour.’ the Mother Superior smiled at Marie as she passed over the gift.

[djn72]

Hi, I'm Dave and this happens to be my first post on tumblr. I've been told good things happen here and I'd like to see as many blogs as I can. The things I am into are #cookery, #physics and #chess mainly, although I like reading literature and also watching films. I have to pick something to talk about and that is where I am a bit stuck. I am sure there are far more enticing blogs out there.. much more interesting than my attempt will be but we will see. Greetings from locked-down Sheffield - another reason for dipping my toe into blogging.