HEY MISTER

I sat motionless; not daring to move; for even the slightest movement in these dank humid conditions brought sweat streaming from every pore of the body. I sat with my eyes tightly shut not daring to look around; for no matter in which direction I looked; it sent my head spinning; in fact the whole world seemed to be spinning as if released from its aeons of captivity.

A sweet sickly scent hung around; which at times became
overwhelming and brought on bouts of nausea; which made me long
for the sweet fresh air that I once knew and loved.

Although not alone I was alone; alone with my thoughts which no one
else could share; thoughts which turned to green fields and blue skies;
of escape from my predicament; which although self inflicted; was
necessary; but hindered my freedom. Escape! I must escape.

Time passed slowly by and as I sat; with eyes tightly shut; the slow
rhythmic churning sound all around brought on a hypnotic trance-like
state; which in itself was a blessing; for it allowed me to dream of
better times; times when life was good, times when the air was sweet
and cool.

Although in a trance I was always vaguely aware of movement and; at
irregular intervals; distant thudding sounds until a prodding sensation in
my shoulder awoke me from my trance with a start; and a voice said:

" Hey mister your washing's finished "

ON REFLECTION

Why does he stare so much? Every time I see him he just stares at me, his eyes follow mine with uncanny precision. They are not pretty eyes, darkly circled and baggy and not really fully opened. And that hair! What a mess. It looks as if it hasn't been combed for days. He's losing his hair, but growing it everywhere else, those bushy eyebrows, hair sprouting out of his nose and ears and boy does he need a shave.

He has a small scar on his top lip just like I have, I tried to eat an open tin can when I was a kid. There's a pock mark on his forehead, we all have them. Chicken Pox!! A kids(and mothers) nightmare, hours of itching and shouts from your mother "don't scratch", and then the cooling relief of calamine lotion.

Thought he smiled then, nah, just a bit of wind.

Hang on! Think he's trying to send me a message, his eye is twitching like a sailors signalling lamp sending a message in Morse Code. It's stopped now, won't send him a reply.

He looks quite worried now, his forehead is furrowed like a ploughed field. He's turned his head to one side and is running his hand over his bristles.

Sod it, I'll shave in the morning.

CANAL

The Leeds and Liverpool Canal runs through our town and the countryside around it. It was built between 1770 and 1816 and was used for the transportation of many things until 1972.It really is a thing of beauty, as it winds sinuously around the contours of the land, with new vistas around every corner.

Everything about it has that "worn-in" look with the tree-laden banks and litchen covered stone walls, it looks as if it has been here for ever. The numerous bridges, usually only used to get cattle from one side to the other, the odd canalside pub.


The canal is at its best at the end of May when nature is showing off its new mantle of green. The edges full of new growth, the heady scent of the May blossom on the Hawthorn that look snow laden. Scores of wild flowers, Buttercups, Bugle, Teasel, Old Mother Hubbard, Vetch and many, many more. The grass in the adjoining meadows waving in the breeze with the odd glimpse of Clover, both white and purple.It's a perfect place for wildlife. Ducks and their fabulous newly born ducklings, the Heron who always seems to be on his/her own, who is such an ugly bird really but so gainly in flight.Squirrels, weasles, I even saw an otter/mink once. The occasional flash of incandescent blue of the Kingfisher. Majestic Swans and their dowdy offspring. In a hot summer Dragonflies with a six inch translucent wingspan. Swallows playing at "I can skim lower over the canal than you can".

But best of all, The Quiet! It is so quiet, no sound of traffic, noisy music. Just the sound of the wash of the occasional barge against the bank. The "plop" of fish as they leap out and back into the water, and it is always behind you, you never see them. Even the barking of farm dogs doesn't bother me like it does at home.

The Canal. So near yet so far.

PET LOG

My Grandson has a pet log, he calls it Woody. He has had it for a while now, it followed him home from school one day and wouldn't leaf him alone.

It's quite an old log, the elder of a litter of six. It's got a horrible bark which doesn't make it very poplar with the neighbours.He takes it for a walk every day, which, despite a brief paws now and then, sometimes turns into a root-march which really saps his strength.

When on holiday it likes to have a run along the beech or sit at the elm of a boat.Although it doesn't generally like being handled it will allow yew to spruce it up when needed.

A word of warning!! If you want to keep a pet log you must twig-on to its every need or it will pine away.

THE WALLER

A tanner a yard the Wallers they earned,

Their monuments still stand for their trade was well learned.

For mile after mile over hill and through dale,

They can withstand the storm and the gale.

They sweated through Summer and froze in the cold,

To earn a living their labour they sold.

Six days a week they would toil at their craft,

Until Sunday gave respite from their graft.

Strange terms and words these men they would use,

The Batter, Fillings, Top-stones and Throughs.

But now not many Wallers have their skill to hire,

For farmers mend their walls with rolls of barbed-wire.

IT'S RAINING

It's raining, in fact it never seems to stop raining. It's that very fine steady drizzle that, for some reason, is wetter than other types of rain.

It's a quiet rain, I cannot hear it above rains other noises, the swishing of car windowscreen wipers, the dripping from the trees, the constant gurgle of the downspout, the splashing of children in the puddlles.

It makes the roofs and road glisten as if they have been polished.

A solitary dog-walker passes, his head bent against the rain, on his daily mission. The Postman is coming up the garden path, he is dressed for the rain, for he knows that whilst on his "walk" it will
never stop raining.

Kids coming home from school, most of them drenched, for no kid
looks cool with a school blazer on.

At least I'm dry, sat looking out of the window.

THE ONE

A ray of sunshine shone through the window; but a cloud of gloom lay heavy all around.

Although everyone was on; at least; nodding terms; no one spoke; but just gave a brief sign of recognition.

No sparkle of eyes, just a glazed; resigned stare. No smile; just a tautness of the lips that said it all. A shuffling of feet and crossing and uncrossing of legs were the only sign of life; apart from the occasional nervous clearing of the throat.

Above the rustling of turning pages and the ticking of the clock; could be heard a dull; monotonous sound and the occasional murmur of voices; followed by the closing of a door and the fading footsteps of someone in a hurry.

Then; all at once; without warning; the door opened. All eyes turned and looked fearfully to the apparition that stood there. The apparition spoke; in a soft but authoritative voice; the words that no one wanted to hear, and an audible release of the breath in relief could be heard from all but one. The "one" stood; on legs that seemed not to belong to him; paused for a second; looked around with watery eyes seeking solace from all around him. No solace came; for all other eyes were busily seeking out scratches on their owners shoes.

The "one"; seemingly all alone in the world; walked unsteadily; with shoulders drooped; out of the door never to be seen again.

Still the sun shone through the window, but the cloud of gloom lay more heavily now than at any other time, for now you are the "one".

And then; for the last time; the door opened and the apparition said
" the dentist will see you now".