Acrostic (Poetry)

Partook in lucid dreaming last night.

Sitting up for hours hoping for a climax.

A programme of highly toxic drugs

Left me limp and distraught.

Otherwise the screeching owl would have had no effect.

Crazy nocturnal bird, envious of the Albatross.

Years of practice, that damn romantic had.

Bogged down with guilt, and lashings of laudanum.

Everybody has a cross to bear I suppose.

Since that night of lucid dreaming

Everyone else appeared sane and rational.

It surely wasn’t just me,

Lacking in coherence?

An instant flash of brilliance passed.

Never thought for one moment, of the damage to the synapse.

Created by nature’s harvest.

Each and everyone tended by the Hatters hand.

Assorted browns appeared interesting, for once.

Treat yourself, enter `The Doors of Perception.`

Arcadia will never be the same.

Enuui

Septimus Oakley watched a fly buzz lazily through the air. It hovered over the heads of the pupils of his class who were busy writing an essay. The fly landed on a desk and began to rub its legs together.

“Only another ten minutes,” said Septimus loudly, looking at his watch.

Ten minutes, he thought, until the weekend begins. Oh joy! Yet another two days of absolute boredom.

Septimus Oakley was a bachelor who lived alone in a little white painted cottage. He was fast approaching the retirement age and considered the prospect of endless days of unemployment as terrifying. Teaching wasn’t exactly an exciting vocation but it gave him some interest, but the thought of an approaching evening or weekend filled him with a feeling of disdain. He didn’t read anything except for pupil’s essays, the required novels for the following day’s lesson and junk mail delivered to him by the postman. Television was just a mass of game shows, adverts and reality programmes. More than often the box stayed switched off.

“Right, put down your pens please,” Septimus  called across the room.” The bell will be going in a minute ….”

Like an obedient dog the bell began to clatter loudly. Desk tops were banged and cases and satchels reached for.

“Quiet now! Move to the door in an orderly manner………please!”

The noise level in the room suddenly became unbearable and Septimus clamped his hands over his ears.

As quickly as the melee started, it ended and silence rushed in to fill the room. The vibration set up by the demise felt like a herd of bulls had left the area and not fourteen young people.

Septimus went round the desks picking up the papers and giving the odd one a glance.

“Brown, i before e except after c! And what writing, looks like a drunken spider had danced over the sheet!” he muttered to himself.

Sitting down at his desk the teacher sorted all the essays into a neat pile. He reached for his case and carefully placed them inside.

“That’ll keep me busy for a few hours this evening,” he said aloud. “Or I could keep that unenviable pleasure till tomorrow.” Septimus chortled at the prospect.

As he made his way out of the school Septimus raised his hat to two of the ladies who taught the primary classes. They looked so young, he thought to himself. Indeed it seemed to him that children were now teaching children.

“Good night ladies,” said Septimus. “Have a nice weekend.”

His car sat in the car park at the school gate. A trusty old Ford Consul, coloured a dirty grey, mottled with the inevitable spots of rust. Ah well, thought Septimus. It will see me out.

He turned the key and the engine caught first time. Revving it a little bit Septimus pulled out of the car park onto the road. He drove off towards the set of traffic lights which were sited at the end of the road. They were on red and he dutifully came to a stop, dropping out of gear and putting on the hand brake. The engine purred like a lazy cat lying in the sun.

Suddenly Septimus heard the screeching of tyres and a blue saloon car careered through the lights and raced off up Hampton Street, pursued closely by a police car with siren wailing and lights flashing blue and red.

The passenger door of Septimus’s car was abruptly pulled open and a young man jumped in.

“Quick!” he shouted. “Follow that car!”

Septimus was taken aback but spluttered.” And who are you?”

The young man pulled a battered wallet out of his pocket and displayed a warrant card.

“I am Detective Sergeant Wilson of Tadworth Police and I want you to pursue that car!”

“Right,” said Septimus obediently, putting the car into gear and disengaging the hand brake. “Let’s go!”

The Consul took off with a lurch leaving long black rubber streaks on the road. The Police car was just visible at the far end of the street. Its light was still flashing as it gave chase.

“Come on sir,” pleaded the policeman. “We will have to go faster than forty miles an hour!”

“But,” wailed Septimus. “We’re in a built up area!”

“I am a policeman, sir and I am officially allowing you to exceed the speed limit!”

Septimus gritted his teeth and pressed down hard on the accelerator. The Consul raced ahead the engine shrieking.

“Change to top gear, man!” shouted Sergeant Wilson. “Or you’ll bugger the engine!”

The shops and houses began to blur as the car whistled down the road. People stopped and looked on in amazement as the procession of three cars sped down the road.

“Oh dear, I think there is a zebra crossing at the end of this road,” groaned Septimus. “I hope the children are not crossing!”

The criminal’s car did not lessen speed as it approached the end of the road and Septimus put up a silent prayer that the lollipop lady was watching out. As he got nearer he saw to his relief that the lady in question was holding back a crowd of children as the lead vehicle hurtled by. Following the police car Septimus charged through and the chase continued.

The streets into Tadworth were getting busier as the car chase continued. The villain’s car weaved from lane to lane in an effort to throw off the pursuit. Car horns blared angrily as the car forced them to brake to avoid a pile up. The police car had obviously radioed ahead as when Septimus and Sergeant flew by a road end they could see a police car holding back the traffic.

On and on they drove, sometimes close to the police car’s boot then separated by several cars.

“Blow your horn!” shouted the sergeant. “We have to get back behind the two cars!”

Septimus leant on his horn and as if by magic the cars in front pulled to the right. A couple of them stopped and the drivers shook their fists at the disappearing Consul.

All of a sudden everything changed for Septimus. His blood was pumping and sweat ran down his brow, but he felt ALIVE! For the very first time in his miserable, predictable, boring life SOMETHING was happening. He was in danger and he was driving like a total maniac, but a thrill ran through his body. He had never felt this way before!

Septimus dropped gear and with the engine screaming overtook the police car and found himself right behind the criminal’s car. There were two men in the front and as the car wove through the traffic they were thrown this way and that.

“Not too close! hissed Sergeant Wilson. “You’ll ram them! Pull back!”

The houses and shops were thinning out on each side of the road. They were leaving Tadworth. Now they were charging down the country lanes, dust and stones flying into the air behind them. A pebble shot up and cracked Septimus’s windscreen but he didn’t slow down. He was going to catch them or bust!

Then it was all over. Two police cars had formed a road block across the road and the pursued car smashed into them and their engine stalled. Septimus jumped on the brakes and slewed to the side of the road where his car rolled to a stop. Sergeant Wilson jumped out and ran across to crashed car.

“Right you men,” he shouted. “Throw any weapons out of the car. My men are armed.”

Two hands holding revolvers emerged from opposite windows of the car. They fell to the ground with a satisfying clunk. Both men then emerged from the car with their hands held high and proceeded to walk over to the awaiting policemen. They were grabbed and forced to the ground where they were handcuffed.

Septimus was in a dazed state. It was all over. The chase, the excitement, the danger.

He was back to the prospect of a dismal, uninteresting evening and weekend where the high spot was fourteen badly spelt and poorly written essays to mark. Septimus could still feel his heart racing, in his imagination he still hurtled through Tadworth scattering the pedestrians  and he knew that he would never feel so ALIVE again as he had today. He sidled across to where the handcuffed men lay. Sergeant Wilson turned and smiled at him.

“Now here is the real hero of the moment, but for his formidable driving, the outcome of today’s chase could have been very different.”

Septimus felt himself blush and he heard himself start to deny his importance in the pursuit, when something behind the group of policemen and their captives caught his eye. Another man was emerging from the villain’s car. He had been hiding in the back seat and now he was coming out holding a gun. He was pointing it at Detective Sergeant Wilson’s back and Septimus knew with a frightening certainty that he intended to fire it!

Grabbing hold of the sergeant’s arm he pushed him out of the way of the bullet and himself into its deadly path. It struck Septimus in the chest and he was thrown to the ground by its impact. A quick witted policeman knocked the gun out of the shooter’s hand and wrestled him to the ground. Soon he too was handcuffed.

“I’m so sorry to have involved you in this. You saved my life.” said Sergeant Wilson to Septimus as he lay bleeding. The policeman knew the wound was a fatal one and the policeman knew that Septimus knew.

“Not at all young man, you were only doing your duty and I am pleased that you are well,” said Septimus feeling the dark closing in. “It was a privilege working with you.”

Detective Sergeant Wilson stood over the body of the dead man whose name he didn’t even know.

“Sir,” he said raising his hand in salute. “The privilege was all mine.”

Haunted Scotland!

The year was 1884, the time of the 51^st annual gathering of the Clan MacPhee.

For centuries this tiny clan of tough and hardy souls had lived on the Island of Scarba, now their castle was ruined, their church an overgrown relic and they were scattered to America, Australia and Canada.  But once a year a remnant of the faithful returned home for the time of the gathering.

The Island was uninhabited now.  The little stone cottages that once heard the sound of singing and the laughter of bairns at play were now roofless and heard only the mournful cry of the seabirds.  At the centre of the Island, set on a huge black edifice of stone stood the ruined castle.  There had been a fortification there for at least two thousand years.  Once Celtic warriors had feasted in its halls, the severed head of the Viking raider Guthram had been washed in the castle well and hung in the great hall.  The Viking chieftain had chosen the wrong Island to attack and had paid the ultimate price.

On the day of the gathering one of the highlights was a tour of the old castle, an old woman from the clan Historical Society led the visitors round.  It was said that once a visitor had missed the boat home and had spent the night alone on the Isle.  The walls of the castle seemed to echo with long forgotten music, its highest tower by moonlight seemed to be illuminated by a phantom ghostly light.  The ghost of Guthram was said to still haunt the Island, looking for his long severed head, a huge Viking battle axe in his hands.  Inside the castle the boar’s head fountain was said to come to life at midnight and made the most hideous sounds! Then there was Lurcher’s Crag, an unseen force was said to propel people up the Crag and over the cliff to their doom! 

The stranded visitor was said to have been found by a passing fishing boat completely out of his mind. A night on the Island with ghostly music, Viking ghosts and eerie fairy lights had been more than he could bear.  At least he had not been found dead at the foot of Lurcher’s Crag!

And so today more than a hundred visitors were returning for this latest gathering, led by a piper, the hereditary piper of the clan.  On board their chartered steam ship from Oban no-one noticed a wiry little man slip on, mingling with the crowd.  Alec was a pick-pocket, he followed crowds looking for an unguarded purse or an open pocket, the unwary visitor would find his cash gone. 

By the time the ship reached Scarba several visitors noted their pockets were lighter than before!  But Alec did not know when to stop; given half a chance he would empty every pocket on this trip!

On the Island the piper made the glens ring with Scottish reels and laments, recounting all the folklore of the clan.  Alec joined the tour of the Island, not because he was interested in Highland folklore, but because he would pick a pocket or two while the visitors listened avidly to their guide.

Alec followed the tour eagerly; he paid no attention to their guide but only to the lady’s purse next to him.  They walked up to the castle and went inside.  He paid no attention to the well where Guthram’s severed head was washed.  He wasn’t interested in the great hall or the boar’s head fountain.  The overgrown church and its imposing Celtic cross didn’t even warrant a second look. 

He listened slightly to the tale of last year’s stranded visitor, who had spent the night on the Island and gone mad.  ‘Typical Scots’ he said to himself, ‘too much whisky!’.  Alec was English but liked to use a phoney Scottish accent, which sounded really ridiculous.

By four in the afternoon Alec’s pockets were jingling with coins and notes!  He now helped himself to several large glasses of complimentary whisky provided by the MacPhee  Historical Society and decided to go round on the tour again.    The guide, a plump lady in tweed from the Historical Society looked down her nose at him, but she couldn’t prevent him coming on the tour.  The finale of the tour was when the guide took the group to Lurcher’s Crag, she raised her arms and in a crescendo of a voice repeated an old rhyme:

‘Every night when the moon is full the ghost of Guthram is seen.  He haunts the castle, he haunts the church and the glen that lies between!’

This time Alec, who was a little worse for wear interrupted her rhyme in a loud voice:

‘Every night when the moon is full the ghost of Guthram is seen.  He haunts the castle, he haunts the church…………WITH HIS EAR ALL PAINTED GREEN!

Everyone turned round to look at him, but Alec only smiled.  He was having his fun and that was all that mattered to him. 

 He left the main group to count his loot, finding a lonely hollow in which to count his cash.  The emptied wallets and purses he threw over the cliff.  He laughed to himself how easy this had all been!  Now Alec went back to the meeting point, expecting to see the sheep there ready to be fleeced again, more pockets to pick!

Instead Alec saw the steamer sailing away into the distance, leaving him alone on this deserted Isle!  The mainland was on the horizon but it was too far to swim, it could be twenty five miles away.  Alec could not swim one mile with his bad leg, never mind twenty five miles of cold Scottish sea.  There was nothing else for it, he would have to spend the night here.  But when he got back to civilisation he would be a wealthy man!  Lot’s of tin to spend on gin, many pounds to buy a round!

Even though it was still only evening the weather had taken a real cold turn.  There was a wind blowing in from the sea whipping the waves up to a foamy frenzy.  Alec looked over his shoulder, what had been a waterfall was no more!  The wind blew the water back up over the cliff and up into the air, disappearing in a cloud of white spray.  It was a very eerie sight.  Alec thought he would find a good place to shelter for the night, from what little he had heard of the tour there was a choice of the castle, the church or the ruined cottages.

Alec had no belief in the supernatural or in God or angels or spirits, nevertheless he chose not to head for the castle.  Even though he didn’t believe in Guthram’s ghost or the boar’s head fountain that place gave him the spooks.  He went to the church.  It was damp and overgrown with moss, he couldn’t find a sheltered corner anywhere.   Now the wind had been joined by rain he needed to find something better.   The little ruined cottages were roofless and offered little protection from the elements.  That only left the castle.

Alec climbed up the snake path again, up the black rock towards the castle.  The dullness of the evening was sucking light from the sky, it would be dark early tonight.  The castle began to look more other-worldly than usual in the failing light.

Alec stood at the ancient gateway to the castle, the gate long since gone, leaving a stone arch.  For a moment he thought he heard music, but looking round he figured it was the wind screeching through the gaps in the stone, it did sound sort of like music!  As a gust of wind picked up the music seemed to grow louder, then die away as the gust passed.  He laughed to himself, the superstitious and uneducated locals probably thought this was the fairy music!

He now went through the arch, there was the old well, a boar’s head fountain, a stone stairway leading up to the ancient feasting hall.  The feasting hall had no roof, so Alec decided to find a dry corner on the stairs below and stretch out for the night.  The stone was cold but tolerable enough, better than being outside in the sheet rain that was now blowing in!

Alec lay back and relaxed, thinking what he would do with his ill gotten gains when he got off this Island!  But he couldn’t relax.  He just felt uneasy…………..then something made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge.  It was cold, but it was more than that!  He was overwhelmed with a sense of approaching doom, a dread of this place.  He reached into his pocket, finding a little bottle of brandy, now was a good time for a tipple!

The bottle had just reached his lips when he let it fly from his hands……………..from somewhere inside the stone walls he had heard the most unearthly scream.  The shriek of a banshee would be more pleasant than this!   As the bottle shattered on the stone steps Alec was petrified by fear, he couldn’t move a muscle.  He lay back on the stone slab completely transfixed.  He cowered there for what seemed like an eternity.

But eventually Alec looked round in the gloom.  There had been no repeat of the sound…….maybe it had just been an especially strong gust of wind blowing through the gaps in the wall.  Maybe it was the sound of a night bird, a silly owl or annoying seabird!  Yes, that would surely be the explanation!   Alec began to lament the loss of the brandy more than he feared the phantom screecher!

However the wind and rain had really picked up now, water was beginning to run down the stairway from the roofless great hall above.  Alec cursed his luck, knowing he would have to move again.  He moved down the stairs and looked out into the courtyard.  The wind was howling through the castle, the boar’s head fountain seemed to be making a whistling sound, but Alec reasoned that was just the wind blowing through tiny gaps in it.   Flashes of lighting now illuminated the night sky.

One of the flashes illuminated the far wall of the courtyard.  Even in his tipsy state Alec saw something over by the far wall.  It was man sized.  He reasoned to himself that it was a bush or something he hadn’t noticed earlier.  A moment later came another flash of lightning, what he had seen was no longer there!  Instead an eerie glow seemed to form on the highest tower of the old ruined castle.   The glow seemed to form into a form, a man in armour. 

Alec shook his head with disdain.   It was the moon shining through the old stained glass window in the ruined church!  It projected an image onto the wall of the castle.  Yes it could be enough to drive a simpleton mad with fear, but not him.  Alec patted himself on the back, he had nothing to fear here tonight, a clever and rational fellow like himself.

He could even hear some music again, this time it sounded like bagpipes!  Alec hated bagpipes.   The wind was blowing as if it had blown its last and the ‘bagpipe’ music poured out of the wall.  However for a moment the wind died away, but the eerie music increased in volume!  Alec stood in stunned silence.  

Suddenly a hideous noise emerged, it seemed to be coming from the walls all around him, below him too, a hideous mocking laugh.  Alec jumped out into the courtyard and the laughter stopped as abruptly as it had started. Although being soaked in the rain he gradually regained his composure, nodding to himself he reckoned someone else had been left stranded and had been playing tricks on him, probably that silly piper he had heard earlier!

But Alec remembered, as the ship sailed away without him the piper had been playing on deck.  The ruined church had no glass remaining in any windows, no stained glass for moonlight to project through.  And he began to hear footsteps moving over the courtyard towards him!  The sound echoed over the stone slabs but no-one was to be seen. 

Alec could take no more, he suddenly panicked, a wave of dread overwhelmed him.  He felt like a hunted animal, only one thought filled his mind, to escape, to survive.  He ran out of the castle, tripping on the way down the path he fell headlong into a bog.  Getting up, now soaked through he ran as fast as he could!  He ran in any direction, he didn’t care, he just had to run!

He found himself running towards Lurcher’s Crag and the cliff.  That was odd, it was not the way he wanted to go.  But he didn’t seem to be able to stop himself.  It was as if something had taken him over, some unseen force was propelling him towards the Crag.  Alec used all of his willpower to try and change direction………..he began to chant audibly to himself ‘left, left, left’.  He wanted to go left not straight ahead! Straight ahead and he would be dead!

________

Very early the next morning some fishermen from the neighbouring Island of Colonsay put out to sea.  They hoped to land a catch, shoals of fish disoriented by last night’s storm.

They sailed under the lea of Scarba, passing by its awesome Cliff, Lurcher’s Crag.  Today onboard was a very old man, old Jethro MacPhee.  The other men on the boat knew that Jethro had been old when their grandfather’s were boys.  The wrinkled old man put to sea only very occasionally………….today was one such day.

Passing the cliff Jethro reached out his bony old hand and pointed.  At the bottom of the cliff was a dead man.  He lay surrounded by golden coins. One of the younger fisherman said that the poor man must have lost his way in the storm and fallen over the cliff to his doom.  He also said they should go ashore and retrieve the gold.

Jethro pointed his long bony finger at the young man and in a chilling voice  said:

‘If ye shall go over to yonder lea shore ye will find that corpse hath no head.  If ye shall go to the great hall of the old castle ye shall find the severed head of the man hanging on the same hook as the head of the Viking Guthram hung on.  If ye shall take that gold then ye also shall meet the same fat, yea and thy bairns after thee!’

This younger fishermen called Finlayson did not heed the old man’s warnings. He gave the old man a mouthful of coarse abuse, then enticed by the lure of the money he waded ashore towards the corpse.  As the old man had predicted it was headless.  Finlayson looked up; perhaps the corpse hit a rock on the way down, knocking the head off.  There was a rational explanation for everything!

However some spots of blood on the rocks formed a trail, heading up to the castle.  Finlayson first stopped to pick up the money, then curiously followed the trail.  He followed the stains of blood on the grass all the way up to the castle and to the well.  Leading away from the well was a trail of water drops, it seemed as if something had been washed in the well, then still dripping wet had been carried away. 

The water drop trail led up to the old feasting hall.  Finlayson walked up the old stone steps to the great hall.  He hardly dared look in, knowing the legend.  But he walked slowly up and into the hall, his knees almost knocking together with fear.  Hanging from a hook on the wall was a severed head! As Finlayson saw the head a crescendo of ethereal music seemed to fill the hall!  Ghostly music, the echoes of yesteryear, the music of feasting and of the ancient Celts!

Finlayson ran from the hall and down to the shore.  His comrades in the fishing boat, inspired by the old man’s warning decided to linger no longer off this unhallowed Isle.  Finlayson saw the boat sail away into the distance, leaving him to face a night on the Island……………….alone!

When the fishermen plucked up the courage to sail back the following morning they passed the lea of Lurcher’s Crag and shuddered.  For there at the base of the cliff were two headless bodies with coins strewn all around them.

____________

On Manoeuvres

It was the summer of 82, days were hot, long and exciting. Icecream, sliders and freeze pops were high on the agenda. These were carefree times, when kids disappeared for hours but always resurfaced for meal times…..magically, without watches or any knowledge or realisation of time……

I was eleven years old, with a mind full of adventure and our “Troop”, as we called ourselves, had members of similar age. We were always out and about, setting ourselves goals, tasks, dares. Trouble was never far away, especially when Kevin was on his game. He was the only one at another school, having moved to the area several months before…….the newbie.

The rest of the guys were Mikey, 12, his little bro Ross, 10, good solid dependable Troopers and Ian, 11, great guy, and my best friend once. Oh, and I can’t forget Stephen, who lived in the same block as me, and slightly older at 13. He’d stood up for me on many occasions, for which I am forever grateful. I was small then.

We, had completed many manoeuvres over the years, having been friends for what seemed like forever. It was around the middle of the school summer break and we’d struck upon our next mission……camping out all night. We’d completed this task before but this one was different.

It wasn’t our usual haunts, local wasteground, the Church woods and various back gardens……Kevin had suggested Campy woods…….

So, as usual, our parents agreed, well why not, we’d camped in the woods behind the Church thousands of times…okay,…..  it felt like thousands, we knew every inch, every beehive, wasps nest and firewood pile…..heheh!

But we weren’t going there…..we’d lied………

Campy woods were haunted, magical and inhabited……..with what we weren’t sure. But they were!!….ask any signed up member of the Troop. We’d spent long days there foraging, swinging, climbing and burning but never at night. No way!!

So after tea, one Tuesday night or was it Wednesday, they were all alike, we gathered at The Green Grass Hill, we always met there. Kitted up with camping gear, well….  sleeping bags, numerous haversacks, some fodder and Ian’s water bottle, we made tracks. Kev had his 3 man tent, the New Explorer 2…that stirred excitement for a moment. There were 6 of us, but we’d squeeze in, sleeping wasn’t on the agenda and we were shorter back then.

Hours later, we meandered through the woods, we were almost there. We laughed, joked and Kev smoked, loved his fags he did!! On the way, we had already tackled a half dozen missions:-

Crossing the carriageway, like frogger but riskier, cars were fewer but just as fast, it always gave us a kick. Ian always joked “he’d heard a story of a father telling his kid to go and play on the carriageway as a means of getting him out of the way, he did so and was knocked down….poor kid.

Climbing the blue gate, it was huge, wooden, and impregnable. Ian was the best, he had reach, believe me…you needed reach. We always kidded it had been taken from a fortress somewhere to stop us,…. just us. It never did….another one cracked!!

The great wall, this was always a challenge, to conquer it then use it to avoid the dense forest below, it was high, so very high especially when you’re so very short. It can be walked by the skilled, Mikey was the best, whereas Ian straddled it and made slow progress. It wasn’t for the faint hearted.

The lodge garden, it had to be crossed. Like a mine field, we could easily walk round, but that was never allowed. Scale the fence, through the veggies, avoid the dog and over the other fence, simple…..but avoid the parkie at all costs, alerting him could blow the whole mission.

The raging river, or bubbling brook, we preferred the former. We’d rope ourselves together, to work as a team, but instead of saving troops, we managed to soak them, sometimes the whole team…always Ross, we’d laugh and scramble out.

On arrival at camp we felt like pioneers, hungry pioneers. Plenty of daylight left, it was only dark for a few hours in those days. A small clearing was picked out, haversacks dumped everywhere and the New Explorer 2 unrolled. Kev smoked as we attempted the tent, it was a quick task, we were keen and experienced, guy ropes tensioned and it was up!

Next, the main event,……. the fire! Gathering wood was tedious but a must and soon we had a fair pile, it would see us through the night. Mikey and Ross would toy fight with their bundles, dropping supplies everywhere…brothers..huh. Ian would skive, he hated work! “Okay troops here goes”, Kev would do the lighting, it took ages, he always did it wrong, “give me a go” i’d plead and with little fires everywhere it would eventually take. At last, the camp had a soul…..we loved fires back then.

Logs and boulders were rolled into place and we’d laugh and joke as we huddled around camp. Kev would smoke, we’d all munch and Ian would guzzle his bottle. It was a spooky place but we hardly noticed,……. we were having fun, always fun. The fire was loaded and poked.

The woods closed in as night crept upon us…….

We sat around the fire that night for hours, story telling, munching and capering. Ghost stories, football, school, and telly were the main subjects. Oh, and girlfriends briefly. Only a few of us had one, it was an embarrassing subject quickly nipped. Ross sat uneasy,….. he was young.

Ian and Stephen were the first to turn in, commandeering the entire tent, then Mikey and Ross. We had no idea of time, who cared?  The sky was illuminating again, night had passed. Much shuffling from the tent and then…..silence. Kev and I were still at the fire, slumped and cosy on opposite sides using logs as pillows. It was warm and mellow, as was the conversation. Kev had a final smoke and that’s the last I remember, we slept. The Troop were at rest…….

Morning came all of a sudden with a motorised zzzzzzzzzzzzz….the tent being unzipped. The fire smouldered as we all awoke. Kev sat up then lit up, the brothers pee’d and Ian rolled up his sleeping bag. Stephen stretched and I watched, taking it all in.
Happy days.

The forest came alive, birds chirped and insects buzzed as we packed up, the fodder was gone which hastened the task. We made tracks, back through the dense woods. The laughter and joking was subdued but the sun shone as it always did. We took the Campy brae track back home. It was downhill and straight, which suited us, it must’ve been about breakfast time.

Passing the Raging River, the Lodge Garden, the Great Wall and the Blue Gate, through the subway, under the Carriagway, and back to the Green Grass Hill. We paused and chatted briefly. “See ya guys” then split, going our separate ways.

We hadn’t seen any ghosts, goblins or wizards, come to think of it, not a thing!

Troopers, team mates, brothers, friends……

I guess we’d brought our own magic to the woods……..

Mission accomplished!

                                                                                                                 

Busy

`Anything from the trolley?` Shouted the porter.

If he asks that fucking question one more time I’m going to stick that trolley where the sun doesn’t shine.

The 9.45 from Edinburgh Waverly to London Kings Cross was running late as usual and Dave Kirk was getting more agitated with every slow… shunt… stop.

The meeting was scheduled for 4.00pm and it was now 3.45.

The tannoy hissed into life again. The nasal annunciation sounded as monotonous as the journey.

`East Coast rail would like to apologize for the disruption of service. We should be arriving at Kings Cross in approximately 20 minutes. We hope this is not too much of an inconvenience to you. Thank you for travelling with East Coast Rail, and we do hope you will travel with us again.`

`Not fucking likely` thought Dave as the intonation ceased.

Looking back through the window at the endless array of ploughed fields and bovine herds Dave caught the reflection of a face staring directly at him. The seating area in the immediate vicinity of the carriage had been empty, Dave was sure of this; but right here, now, at this very instant, was a face of a man reflected in the glass staring unashamedly at the back of Dave’s head. Dave turned to face the form.

The man, grinning, just kept on staring.

Small in stature, ruddy cheeked, with an aquiline feature, wearing a suit made of worsted yarn, threadbare around the cuffs and collar. Sporting a fedora type hat, and smiling, smirking, staring… staring, directly at Dave.

`Top of the morning to you Dave!  The man suddenly remarked. O my mistake it’s afternoon already, I really am losing me marbles, too much potcheen me thinks`.

`Good afternoon. Spluttered Dave. But how did…`

`…I know your name`, interrupted the man,` nodding knowingly toward the head rest behind Dave.

`Your booking ticket, I have an eye for the detail you know, little bits of information like that can tell you a lot about a person. Keep an eye on the detail and the bigger picture will become clear. Well, that’s what my dear old mother used to say god rest her soul`. The man blessed himself with priest like finesse.

`Were you in another carriage? Dave retorted, I thought I was sitting here on my own, I never noticed anyone getting on or off since; since York I think.`

`Och Dave! replied the man. I been with you the entire journey, you just haven’t noticed me before. Too busy with your electric envelope thing and that black tile you press to your ear every minute or two. Busy, busy, busy. That’s the nature of the beast today, busy, busy, busy.`

 `O, you mean my phone? Yes it does keep me occupied now and then.` Replied Dave smiling.

`Now and then, now and then! Exclaimed the man. O come on Dave me boy, that little box of horrors is permanently pressed toward your lug, listening intently for your next set of commands and orders. Your entire life is run by electronics and machinery Dave, you need your phone and your laptop more than you need your wife and kids, more than you need your mother or father, your `busy` life is run by technology and your actual life is flittering by, flittering by Dave like the Mayfly. Except the Mayfly has a purpose Dave, your busy life has none; no rasion d’etre. You are consumed by the media Dave, cd’s, dvd’s, purile soaps, consumerism, flippant pastimes, gym’s, looking good, DIY, Sunday Dave is no longer spent with HIM Dave, no no no, it’s spent in superstores planning the patio, selecting the barbecue, choosing the material for curtains, picking the wallpaper, matching the correct shade, busy, busy, busy, very very busy.    

Would you like me to let you into a little secret Dave? This train never makes it to Kings Cross Dave, this journey ends just before Clapham Junction Dave.. this train and the  4. O’clock from Paddington to Milton Keynes meet Dave, they meet suddenly Dave, all at once and they don’t slow… shunt… stop before it Dave. O no, they meet head on Dave and at that meeting Dave you and all the other passengers will shout for him Dave, will pray to him Dave will send their heart toward him Dave and you will realise in an instant an infinitesimal minute minuscule instant that being busy Dave is not the answer, being busy Dave is being BUSY Dave… busy Dave… Being Under Satans Yoke do you hear me Dave his yolk, his yolk his yolk his yolk…`

Beep… beep… beep… beep… beep… beep… beep. the mobile phone alarm was buzzing, buzzing ...

`Dave…Dave, come on Dave, said the voice, come on Dave wake up for god sake.`

Dave Kirk’s wife was looming over him. `Dave for Christ’s sake will you get up?`

`O shit am I late? I had, the weirdest dream, I was on a tra…

`Never mind all that, spluttered his wife. Get up! The Taxi’s booked for 8, you have a train to catch and an extremely busy day ahead of you.`

Heavy Metal Rules OK

Jeffrey Brown was in a delirium of ecstasy. Judas Priest screamed in his ears and his disco light flashed insane colours around the room. The music was synchronised with the lamp so the frequency of the colours matched the highs and lows of the cacophony. The heavy guitar music vibrated the room and shook the windows. Jeffrey pranced around the room playing his air guitar and attempting to simulate one of his favourite guitarists, Glen Tipton.

Suddenly he was ripped from his dream by harsh knocking at the door of his room. Quickly switching his CD player off, he opened the door. There stood Mrs. Simpkins, his landlady.

“What have I told you before, Mr Brown? Anymore of your loud music and you are out!”

Jeffrey put his most unctuous voice on and smiled apologetically at the little five foot lady. Small though she maybe but a real dragon!

“I am so sorry Mrs S. I put the CD player on and the volume control must have been turned too far up ……by accident.”

Mrs Simpkins may have been a dragon but she had a heart that could be melted by a smile that now graced Jeffrey’s face.

“Well…….Mr Brown. I’ve got the other people in the house to think about. What sort of landlady would I be if I allowed all my tenants to play their music loud?”

“Well it won’t happen again Mrs S. I’m going out this evening to a concert so the house will truly silent.”

“Ok then,” said the landlady. “But you mind…….I won’t be as understanding next time.”

Jeffrey shut the door and listened as Mrs Simpkins footsteps went off down the stairs. Phew, he thought, I thought I was in for it then.

Walking across to the wardrobe Jeffrey took down his jerkin which was hanging at the side. He felt along the collar carefully until he felt the mouth of the microphone. Then he felt in a pocket that he had specially stitched on the inside lining for his digital recorder. Pulling on the jacket he checked in the mirror that nothing was showing and then clicked on the recorder to do a sound check.

“Testing, testing. Mary had a little lamb its fleece was white as snow.”

Rewinding he switched on again and heard his voice say,

“Testing, testing. Mary had a little lamb its fleece was white as snow.”

“Perfect!” he said and opening the front door, locked it after him, went down the stairs and out into the night.

Black Sabbath, Death Watches and Iron Maiden were playing at the King George the Third Theatre here in Lansborough that night. Jeffrey had managed to get tickets from a friend, but it had cost him almost fifty quid, but well worth it as far as Jeffrey was concerned. He loved Heavy Metal music and the louder the better.

Tonight he planned on making an illegal recording of Death Watches, they were a relatively new group on the scene and Jeffrey wanted to get a few of their tracks on his recorder. If he could just get by the bouncers. Sometimes they gave you a right body search. Bloody pervs! thought Jeffrey.

As he approached the theatre, Jeffrey could see the long line of people waiting to go in. He had left plenty of time to get in and to his seat so he just sauntered to the back of the line and waited.

Two girls arrived and stood behind Jeffrey. He knew one was called Cheryl but didn’t know who the other one was.

“Hi Cheryl,” he said and turned away to shuffle forward with the dwindling queue.

“Oh, hi Jeff, “she replied. “Should be a good night.”

Eventually Jeffrey and the girls arrived at the main door. The two bouncers were dressed in tuxedos and looked very efficient, but as soon as they saw Cheryl and her friend they totally ignored Jeffrey and waved him in. Turning round and looking back he could see that the bouncers were trying to chat up the girls. Perfect, he thought, I’m in.

 The theatre was immense, it could hold a thousand people and by the time the curtain was about to go up, it was full. Jeffrey was sitting two rows from the front and he nervously touched the hidden microphone.

Death Watches were to be on first, so Jeffrey surreptitiously felt inside his jacket for the on switch of his recorder.

The lights in the theatre lowered and the curtain rose. There on the stage stood the band all picked out in ever changing beams of colour. You could hear a pin drop, the silence was tangible. Jeffrey switched his recorder on.

The silence lengthened, it seemed as if the group had forgotten their words but just when the tension in the air was close to exploding, Micky Juste hit the strings on his bass guitar and it sounded like a cannon going off. Exhilarating, stupendous and suddenly the theatre erupted with cheers, whistles and roars of appreciation. The audience had become one, a raging, pleasure demanding entity and it was pleased!

The night just flew by for Jeffrey. Black Sabbath came on after Death Watches had done umpteen encores. And the evening finished with renditions from Iron Maiden including the legendary Number of the Beast and Somewhere in Time. Classic material.

Eventually after the three groups had come on and taken their bows several times, the curtain came down, the lights came on and a very satisfied audience made their way to the exits. Jeffrey felt he was walking on air. That was the best night, he thought, I’ve had recently and I’ve got my recording. He decided to leave it till he got back to his flat before listening to it, just in case…..

The streets were dark as Jeffrey made his way home. Quite a few of the street lamps needed new lamps in them and there absence caused pockets of darkness in certain areas. Spooky, thought Jeffrey, especially when a moaning wind began to blow. It felt like a horror movie!

He was about a mile from his flat when he suddenly needed a pee. He knew he could wait till he got inside but a bit of the wanton came over Jeffrey and he decided to step into the shadowy park which lay off from the road. Pulling his zip down he began to make water and amused himself by swinging the golden stream this way and that.

Finishing off with a couple of shakes Jeffrey zipped up and turned to go back to the path that lead to the road.

Suddenly he was engulfed in a very bright light. It totally bathed him and Jeffrey could sense the beam was checking him out. It felt as if a million small fingers were moving over his body. He screamed and made to run, but he realised that he had no sensation in his legs. He felt paralysed.

Then the bright light went out and was replaced by a very thin beam of blue light. He felt dizzy and almost stumbled and fell, but the blue light seemed to hold him upright. All at once Jeffrey began to black out and as he lost consciousness, felt that he was being lifted into the air.

When Jeffrey came to he was unsure of how long he had been unconscious. His head hurt and he felt as if he ached all over. He was lying on a metal table, his arms and legs in restraints and looking down he realised that all his clothes had been removed!

The room had metal walls and although it looked as if there were benches round the edge of the room, they seemed to be very high off the ground. Covering the top of the benches Jeffrey could make out scientific looking equipment and what looked like glassware.

A door in the wall suddenly slid open and what could only be described as a creature stood looking in. It must have been seven feet tall and was very thin. A small head with ice blue, slanted eyes and a mouth full off needle like teeth sat on a long neck which waved from side to side, snakelike. Its whole body was grey and the skin or whatever covered the being looked faintly plastic. It had two arms as long as a fully grown octopus which dangled at its side.

“You are awake!” the being said, its voice sibilant and screeching. A box hanging round its neck seemed to be some sort of translator for the creature spoke into it and seconds later the translation in English emerged.

“yyyyeesssss.” Jeffrey spluttered, he was scared. Where was he? Who was this thing? How could he escape?”

The creature explained through the translator that it was one of the Qorgeen Breed. A race of warriors who hunted in the Universe. Earth had come under their baleful eye when one of Earth’s satellites crashed into their home world after emerging from a white hole which was discharging debris which its black hole counterpart had drawn in. By using one of their Krystall ships they had passed through the white hole to emerge out of the black and thus were able to use their locators to discover Earth’s position. There’s was only an expeditionary force consisting of two vessels. It was originally thought potentially to be a suicide mission by the leaders of the Qorgeen Breed, but if fresh hunting grounds could be found, then it made the risk worthwhile.

“Do you… have a…. name?” asked Jeffrey haltingly. The creature had moved into the room. Its movement was a sort of gliding motion as if it hovered like a dragonfly.

“A name?” screeched the being. “What is that?”

“I…I am called Jeffrey. It is my name.”

“Jjefffrrey…” the creature didn’t seem to know what he was talking about.

Four more creatures came through the door and positioned themselves round Jeffrey on the table. None of them had a translator box so all Jeffrey could hear was snake like hissing and screeches. After prodding and poking him for about an hour, one of the beings picked up what looked like a scalpel and touched it to Jeffrey’s chest. It then made an incision out of which sprang blood.

“Heyyy!!” shouted Jeffrey angrily. “That bloody hurt!”

The being who had made the cut looked down at Jeffrey. It had the coldest eyes that he had ever seen. They seemed to bore right through him.

Putting down the scalpel-like thing, the being patted at the cut with a gauzy looking pad and then inspected the bloodstain. Horribly a grey bifurcated tongue emerged from its mouth and it licked the blood. It obviously found it to its taste for it handed it round to its three colleagues for a tasting.

“Your bloody interstellar vampires!” screamed Jeffrey. “What are you going to next? Eat me?”

The four creatures glided out of the room leaving the original being with the translator box.

“What happens now?” asked Jeffrey. “Am I on the menu for tonight’s tea?”

The being looked down at Jeffrey, then at Jeffrey’s big stomach.

“Are all Earth people as fat and puny as you?” It screeched.

“I’m not fat….” Jeffrey began to say

“The present members of my Breed find that Earth is rich for harvesting, so they are in the process of plotting a course back to the black hole. We will pass through, emerge out of the white hole and then be able to transmit Earth’s location for our cadres. You will be no better used than your cattle by us.”

Jeffrey was at a loss, he had to warn somebody. But who would believe him? No one would know anything until the, what was it, oh yes, the Qorgeen Breed arrived for their global barbeque!

“I thought everything was crushed in a black hole.” Jeffrey was playing for time.

“How little you puny Earthlings know. Inside a black hole there is silence. No noise. No disturbances. A kind of vacuum where even time halts momentarily. Our Krystall ships have the inbuilt strength of a fragile glass structure. We sleep during the journey, so that there is no chance of disruption to the perfection or silence of the black hole,” screeched the alien.

“Well…so what happens now?” Jeffrey asked, unsure of the answer.

“We will take five of you Earth minutes to reach the Event Horizon of the Black Hole and then several Earth weeks to pass through from one side to the other. Expect your masters to arrive in one Earth month!”

“Lunar or calendar?” asked Jeffrey fatuously.

The restraints were suddenly removed and Jeffrey scuttled bare arsed across to where his clothes lay. Quickly pulling them on he felt around the collar and inside pocket of his jacket. The microphone and recorder were still there and he carefully took them out. A plan had been hatching in his brain since the aliens had spoken of their race’s plans for Earth. There was no way he was going to be turned into a juicy steak for a seven foot bug! thought Jeffrey as he secreted his recording equipment behind the bench and set the timer on the unit to activate in one hour.

The blue light was suddenly back, shining down blindingly and once again Jeffrey felt his vision darkening. The beam raised him up into the air and then his mind slid into merciful blackness.

When he awoke, Jeffrey saw that he lay within a black circle. The grass though wet under him was quite burnt around him. High in the sky a large bright star shone momentarily in the heavens before shooting off and vanishing.

Jeffrey checked his watch as he got up. He brushed grass and twigs from his trousers and once again turned his attention to the sky. It was a starry night and the Milky Way could be seen clearly. Jeffrey wondered in which direction the black hole was. He had heard that there was supposed to be one in the constellation of Cygnus the Swan, but he was not sure where that was in the sky.

All at once a bright blossom of fire exploded above him and Jeffrey knew that he had found the location. The flower of destruction spread through the heavens and soon it outshone the stars. Jeffrey checked his watch.

“Right on time! Good old Micky Juste! Bang on time!”

A very fine mist of snow began to fall and Jeffrey thought it must resemble the crystalline particles of the ships of the Qorgeen Breed after they had enjoyed that momentous chord and music from the Death Watches group.

“Yehh!” shouted Jeffrey as he danced around singing.

“I am the champion, I an the champion, I AM THE CHAMPION OF THE WORLD!!

Energy

         

Pushing, Thrusting, Sliding,

Friction, Rolling, Gliding,

Squatting, Explosive Jumping,

Launching, Heart Is Pumping,

G Force, Streamlined, Contact,

Landing, Absorption, Impact,
Pistons Thumping, Lactic,

Slowing, Skidding, Static.