A Sense of Place by Michelle Cardwell, soon to be published in 'Down Your Way' Magazine.
A Sense Of Place – Memories in the Rubble
Imagine, if you can, a place where everyone is friendly, happy and approachable, everyone knows each other and no man is looked at with the eyes of suspicion if he says “Hello” to a child. Three cars parked on the street look almost alien.
The houses are set out in five simple rows of twenty dwellings, each row evenly spaced resembling parading soldiers. The view itself is drab and dreary but the lives behind this façade are far from dull. Every house is physically identical except for the little touches of individuality stamped on them by house-proud women - pretty curtains or flowers in pots in the little backyards. The houses are plain but warmth and life emanates from each one giving the whole estate an inviting glow.
Every morning twenty doors open almost simultaneously and out of each one steps the man of the house clad in flat cap and heavy boots. They fall into place as if marching into battle. The women stay at home and get the kids off to school then undertake the daily chores before ensuring a hot meal is on the table when their provider and protector returns home.
Every hour throughout the day a low hum that ascends into a deafening roar attempts, unsuccessfully, to interfere with neighbourly chats or afternoon naps had by mums and babies who have long been accustomed to the racket of the pit train. It rumbles past, barely twenty feet from the closest dwelling, carrying its precious load of freshly mined coal that glints like glass in the sun.
A woman stands in her backyard chatting to the lady next door, they talk about Saturday nights down at the bingo, the only night when they are released from their duties and are allowed to be women, not just mums. During the whole conversation her curled bottom lip manages to keep hold of the cigarette that seems to be a physical extension of her. No matter how much she chats, moves or shouts at the kids it refuses to release its bond. An endless curl of smoke claws its way forever upwards as if attempting to reach the fresher air above.
In the street, snotty nosed children run round entertaining themselves with the only toy known to them, their imagination! No electricity or batteries are needed for their amusement (with the exception of ‘Simple Simon’ whose creativity with a piece of copper wire and a battery should one day secure him a decent career as a sparky). Squeals of excitement can be heard as an old brass button is found in the
rubble of the derelict houses on the next block, the victorious treasure hunter believing it to be solid gold.
These once loved homes now provide an elaborate playground. Fun is found in the secret hiding places created by fallen rubble and broken glass which has long since been evicted from rotten, ancient frames. Roof slates decorate the place where a bright yellow swing set once stood, creating deadly missiles for the neighbourhood children’s rough but fun games. Buildings now stand bald, naked and vulnerable to the weather. The walls that were once lovingly covered with bright, inviting wallpaper are now a magical kaleidoscope of colours and patterns created by seeping, dripping rain water.
This was the early 1980’s in a pit village called Thrybergh. My happiest memories were born here amongst the rubble and cigarette smoke. The rumble of the pit train was my bedtime lullaby. It was a happy, warm, secure place to be.
When I was seven years old giant yellow machines with iron fists beat the houses to a mountain of rubble, all that remains today is an empty scrap of land that betrays the memories of the place it used to be.
rubble of the derelict houses on the next block, the victorious treasure hunter believing it to be solid gold.
These once loved homes now provide an elaborate playground. Fun is found in the secret hiding places created by fallen rubble and broken glass which has long since been evicted from rotten, ancient frames. Roof slates decorate the place where a bright yellow swing set once stood, creating deadly missiles for the neighbourhood children’s rough but fun games. Buildings now stand bald, naked and vulnerable to the weather. The walls that were once lovingly covered with bright, inviting wallpaper are now a magical kaleidoscope of colours and patterns created by seeping, dripping rain water.
This was the early 1980’s in a pit village called Thrybergh. My happiest memories were born here amongst the rubble and cigarette smoke. The rumble of the pit train was my bedtime lullaby. It was a happy, warm, secure place to be.
When I was seven years old giant yellow machines with iron fists beat the houses to a mountain of rubble, all that remains today is an empty scrap of land that betrays the memories of the place it used to be.
Friday 27 May 2011
Tuesday 24 May 2011
Sunday 22 May 2011
Tuesday 1 February 2011
Michelle Cardwell, Short Story
Venificaedis
Wind and rain battered the windows of the old house, and made the trees do a hypnotic dance. The path on this side of the house was overgrown as it was no longer used; the relentless vines and roots won their battle years ago. Their scrawny fingers clawed their way across every surface of the house attempting to preserve its dark secrets.
When the house was first built, in Henry VIII’s reign, this side was the front and the house’s original name was carved into a large lintel over what was now an enormous window, but would have been the original entrance. The ivy had done its job though and kept the lintel completely hidden from view, it would be many years in the future that its name and legacy would be discovered.
Its new owners, Betty, her daughter-in-law Elizabeth and her granddaughter, Martha, had only recently moved in. Betty had purchased the house at a bargain price seeing it as a retreat after losing both her sons, William and Samuel in the Great War. Elizabeth was William’s widow and Martha his six year old daughter. Betty’s husband, William had died five years before and she took comfort knowing that her boys were reunited with their father.
One wing of the house had been perfect to enable Betty to follow her heart and open up a country tearoom, although Elizabeth had insisted on calling it a café due to her romantic notions following her honeymoon in Paris. Soon after moving in Elizabeth had found some papers which referred to the area of the house that would eventually be their café, and noted that the previous owners had referred to it as the “vine side” due to the relentless growth of ivy no doubt. Their tearoom now had a name, ‘Vineside Café’ and she was as determined as Betty was to make it a success.
Martha hated this weather. It meant she was confined to finding amusement within the walls of the house instead of being outdoors in the fresh air that she loved. When she had first moved here the size of the house and its grounds had overwhelmed her, and as yet she had not had much chance to explore the house. It had been a particularly pleasant summer so she had spent most of her time exploring the grounds and finding her own little adventures in the overgrown areas at the rear of the house. It was impossible for Martha to go outside today and to say she was disappointed was an understatement.
Now she wandered down the long corridor that led from the café to the living quarters. Her mother had instructed her to find her grandmother as there had been a sudden rush in the café due to the sudden downpour. As she skipped along the hallway she imagined helping her grandmother with her baking, she could almost smell the hot apple pie she was sure she would be making since she had been out to the orchard with her only that morning to pick fresh apples. Walking along she noticed a door she had not noticed before. Deciding that her exploration of the inside of the house was well overdue she walked over to the door and held her ear to it. She knew there couldn’t possibly be anyone there as she had just left her mother in the café and was certain her grandmother would be busy baking apple pie in their private kitchen. Hearing nothing, she reached out and grabbed the handle. Having a last look around to make sure no one was around to spoil her adventure she slowly turned the handle and the door crept open silently. Stepping inside she was a bit apprehensive about the darkness so tiptoed over to the window and drew back the curtains. Although it was overcast outside the light illuminated the room and comforted her. The room was bare apart from the curtains, a very old rug that had seen much better days and a beautiful bureau with bright brass fittings. Seeing that the bureau was the only thing of any interest in the room she started pulling open drawers. Nothing at all here! Running her fingers along the beautiful carvings along the ledge her fingers found a little notch; she applied a little pressure and to her surprise a secret draw popped open. Inside was a large brown envelope with some handwriting on it, unfortunately being only six years old, she had not yet learnt how to read this type of writing. She carefully opened the envelope and tipped the contents out onto the bureau top. She was disappointed to find more documents that she was unable to decipher but there was also some sketches, two seemed to be of the house, showing rooms she was not aware of. One of them was of her favourite place in the grounds, a small walled area where she was convinced fairies and pixies lived in among the beautiful, sweet smelling flowers that grew there. Then she found a portrait of an exquisite looking lady. Her hair, dark as night, fell in glossy bangs around her shoulders and she had the most delicate red lips. It was her eyes, as green as the beautiful lawns at the front of the house, that really caught her attention though. She felt as though they could really see her, like the lady was in the room watching her through her portrait. She turned the portrait over and saw that there was something written, A.L.I.C.E, she read slowly able to make out the letters as they weren’t joined up like the writing in the other papers, M.A.F.E 1632. Seeing that there was nothing else to examine she placed all the papers back in the envelope and decided to take the portrait to show her grandmother and enquire if she knew who the intriguing lady was.
Finding nothing else in the room she turned to leave. As she did so she caught her heel in the threadbare rug and tripped and fell over. As she pushed herself on to her knees to stand she noticed a crack in the floor board that carried on underneath the rug. She pulled the rug back to investigate further and was suddenly startled by a noise somewhere in the distance. She stood for a moment trying to determine the source of the noise, but on hearing nothing more she composed herself and concluded that it must be customers leaving, the door banging due to the wind. Turning her attention back to her new curiosity, her heart quickened as she realized that what she thought was a cracked floor board was actually a door… in the floor. She was excited now, she had found a secret trapdoor, the kind she had heard about in stories her mother had read to her at bedtime, the kind that always led to some secret magical kingdom full of wonderful things that’s little girls adored. She crept back to the main door of the room and opened it just a slither, enough to check that no one would discover her secret place. She was already imagining the fun adventures she could have in her secret kingdom. Confident that her secret was safe she closed the door and went back to the secret trapdoor. She bent and slowly opened it, it creaked loudly and she felt a little frightened by the noise it made but stooped down to peer inside. The light was very dim but she made out a stairway which descended into darkness. She wondered if she was brave enough to go down in the dark, but her curiosity won and she put a foot on the first stair. Hoping that the light shining through the room would be sufficient enough to comfort her she placed a second foot down, onto the next stair. Her heart pounded in her chest as she descended the stairs. She was certain it was getting darker and colder the deeper she went but she was determined to get to the bottom and see what adventure was to be had. Step after step after step, suddenly she was on level ground. She had to be at the bottom but was blind in the darkness. She put her arms out trying to feel for some clue as to what was here, timidly putting one foot in front of the other trying to feel her way in the suffocating darkness. Her breath walked before her in the cold, dankness of the place and growing more and more afraid now she considered retreating back to light, warmth and safety, but then her fingers brushed on something. Something cold and solid, her hands swept the surface and probed for some sign of what it was. Grabbing a cold, round thing she knew it could only be a door knob and instinctively turned it, praying that opening it would release some light. Tentatively she pushed the door and an icy blast shot past her. BANG!! Pitch darkness enveloped her as the trapdoor above her slammed shut. A small shriek involuntarily left her lips and hung in the air, as she realized that now she really was scared. She had no idea where she was and the darkness seemed to cling to her.
Deafened by her own heartbeat, and desperately trying to regain her composure she was completely unaware of movement in the corner of the room. Hoping that her eyes would soon adjust to the darkness she decided that she must stand still until her composure and her pulse were normal. She listened and heard nothing but the normal noises of darkness, but then she heard what she could only describe as movement in the corner of the room. Turning to face the noise she heard it again but this time it seemed to come from the other side, as she turned quickly she thought she saw a flash of green in the area where the first noise was. As she tried to focus her sight into one spot she saw it again, just a brief flash, nothing more. Squinting away the darkness she concentrated but was too afraid to move closer. Suddenly she felt cold air on her neck, and then she felt a cold pressure on her shoulder. A woman’s voice whispered menacingly in her ear, she could not understand the words at first but then they became clearer “I am not what they say, I don’t belong here”, Martha turned to face the voice, her fear taken over by curiosity. When she saw who spoke her fear returned and she collapsed to the floor in a heap. The mysterious lady who spoke shrank back into her corner as a deafening, hideous cackle filled the room……”you will never leave here Alice, never, this is ‘Veneficae Aedis’ and your soul is doomed forever!”
Wind and rain battered the windows of the old house, and made the trees do a hypnotic dance. The path on this side of the house was overgrown as it was no longer used; the relentless vines and roots won their battle years ago. Their scrawny fingers clawed their way across every surface of the house attempting to preserve its dark secrets.
When the house was first built, in Henry VIII’s reign, this side was the front and the house’s original name was carved into a large lintel over what was now an enormous window, but would have been the original entrance. The ivy had done its job though and kept the lintel completely hidden from view, it would be many years in the future that its name and legacy would be discovered.
Its new owners, Betty, her daughter-in-law Elizabeth and her granddaughter, Martha, had only recently moved in. Betty had purchased the house at a bargain price seeing it as a retreat after losing both her sons, William and Samuel in the Great War. Elizabeth was William’s widow and Martha his six year old daughter. Betty’s husband, William had died five years before and she took comfort knowing that her boys were reunited with their father.
One wing of the house had been perfect to enable Betty to follow her heart and open up a country tearoom, although Elizabeth had insisted on calling it a café due to her romantic notions following her honeymoon in Paris. Soon after moving in Elizabeth had found some papers which referred to the area of the house that would eventually be their café, and noted that the previous owners had referred to it as the “vine side” due to the relentless growth of ivy no doubt. Their tearoom now had a name, ‘Vineside Café’ and she was as determined as Betty was to make it a success.
Martha hated this weather. It meant she was confined to finding amusement within the walls of the house instead of being outdoors in the fresh air that she loved. When she had first moved here the size of the house and its grounds had overwhelmed her, and as yet she had not had much chance to explore the house. It had been a particularly pleasant summer so she had spent most of her time exploring the grounds and finding her own little adventures in the overgrown areas at the rear of the house. It was impossible for Martha to go outside today and to say she was disappointed was an understatement.
Now she wandered down the long corridor that led from the café to the living quarters. Her mother had instructed her to find her grandmother as there had been a sudden rush in the café due to the sudden downpour. As she skipped along the hallway she imagined helping her grandmother with her baking, she could almost smell the hot apple pie she was sure she would be making since she had been out to the orchard with her only that morning to pick fresh apples. Walking along she noticed a door she had not noticed before. Deciding that her exploration of the inside of the house was well overdue she walked over to the door and held her ear to it. She knew there couldn’t possibly be anyone there as she had just left her mother in the café and was certain her grandmother would be busy baking apple pie in their private kitchen. Hearing nothing, she reached out and grabbed the handle. Having a last look around to make sure no one was around to spoil her adventure she slowly turned the handle and the door crept open silently. Stepping inside she was a bit apprehensive about the darkness so tiptoed over to the window and drew back the curtains. Although it was overcast outside the light illuminated the room and comforted her. The room was bare apart from the curtains, a very old rug that had seen much better days and a beautiful bureau with bright brass fittings. Seeing that the bureau was the only thing of any interest in the room she started pulling open drawers. Nothing at all here! Running her fingers along the beautiful carvings along the ledge her fingers found a little notch; she applied a little pressure and to her surprise a secret draw popped open. Inside was a large brown envelope with some handwriting on it, unfortunately being only six years old, she had not yet learnt how to read this type of writing. She carefully opened the envelope and tipped the contents out onto the bureau top. She was disappointed to find more documents that she was unable to decipher but there was also some sketches, two seemed to be of the house, showing rooms she was not aware of. One of them was of her favourite place in the grounds, a small walled area where she was convinced fairies and pixies lived in among the beautiful, sweet smelling flowers that grew there. Then she found a portrait of an exquisite looking lady. Her hair, dark as night, fell in glossy bangs around her shoulders and she had the most delicate red lips. It was her eyes, as green as the beautiful lawns at the front of the house, that really caught her attention though. She felt as though they could really see her, like the lady was in the room watching her through her portrait. She turned the portrait over and saw that there was something written, A.L.I.C.E, she read slowly able to make out the letters as they weren’t joined up like the writing in the other papers, M.A.F.E 1632. Seeing that there was nothing else to examine she placed all the papers back in the envelope and decided to take the portrait to show her grandmother and enquire if she knew who the intriguing lady was.
Finding nothing else in the room she turned to leave. As she did so she caught her heel in the threadbare rug and tripped and fell over. As she pushed herself on to her knees to stand she noticed a crack in the floor board that carried on underneath the rug. She pulled the rug back to investigate further and was suddenly startled by a noise somewhere in the distance. She stood for a moment trying to determine the source of the noise, but on hearing nothing more she composed herself and concluded that it must be customers leaving, the door banging due to the wind. Turning her attention back to her new curiosity, her heart quickened as she realized that what she thought was a cracked floor board was actually a door… in the floor. She was excited now, she had found a secret trapdoor, the kind she had heard about in stories her mother had read to her at bedtime, the kind that always led to some secret magical kingdom full of wonderful things that’s little girls adored. She crept back to the main door of the room and opened it just a slither, enough to check that no one would discover her secret place. She was already imagining the fun adventures she could have in her secret kingdom. Confident that her secret was safe she closed the door and went back to the secret trapdoor. She bent and slowly opened it, it creaked loudly and she felt a little frightened by the noise it made but stooped down to peer inside. The light was very dim but she made out a stairway which descended into darkness. She wondered if she was brave enough to go down in the dark, but her curiosity won and she put a foot on the first stair. Hoping that the light shining through the room would be sufficient enough to comfort her she placed a second foot down, onto the next stair. Her heart pounded in her chest as she descended the stairs. She was certain it was getting darker and colder the deeper she went but she was determined to get to the bottom and see what adventure was to be had. Step after step after step, suddenly she was on level ground. She had to be at the bottom but was blind in the darkness. She put her arms out trying to feel for some clue as to what was here, timidly putting one foot in front of the other trying to feel her way in the suffocating darkness. Her breath walked before her in the cold, dankness of the place and growing more and more afraid now she considered retreating back to light, warmth and safety, but then her fingers brushed on something. Something cold and solid, her hands swept the surface and probed for some sign of what it was. Grabbing a cold, round thing she knew it could only be a door knob and instinctively turned it, praying that opening it would release some light. Tentatively she pushed the door and an icy blast shot past her. BANG!! Pitch darkness enveloped her as the trapdoor above her slammed shut. A small shriek involuntarily left her lips and hung in the air, as she realized that now she really was scared. She had no idea where she was and the darkness seemed to cling to her.
Deafened by her own heartbeat, and desperately trying to regain her composure she was completely unaware of movement in the corner of the room. Hoping that her eyes would soon adjust to the darkness she decided that she must stand still until her composure and her pulse were normal. She listened and heard nothing but the normal noises of darkness, but then she heard what she could only describe as movement in the corner of the room. Turning to face the noise she heard it again but this time it seemed to come from the other side, as she turned quickly she thought she saw a flash of green in the area where the first noise was. As she tried to focus her sight into one spot she saw it again, just a brief flash, nothing more. Squinting away the darkness she concentrated but was too afraid to move closer. Suddenly she felt cold air on her neck, and then she felt a cold pressure on her shoulder. A woman’s voice whispered menacingly in her ear, she could not understand the words at first but then they became clearer “I am not what they say, I don’t belong here”, Martha turned to face the voice, her fear taken over by curiosity. When she saw who spoke her fear returned and she collapsed to the floor in a heap. The mysterious lady who spoke shrank back into her corner as a deafening, hideous cackle filled the room……”you will never leave here Alice, never, this is ‘Veneficae Aedis’ and your soul is doomed forever!”
Tuesday 18 January 2011
Thursday 27 May 2010
A short story by Dorothy Parry
Hello Little Reader.
Once upon a time there was a kitten called Prince Tinderbox. He lived with his mother Queen Snowflake; she was as white as driven snow. His father was King Garfield; he was as blue as the summer sky. Tinderbox was bright red with stripes on him; he had the most gorgeous golden eyes that shone so bright.
Tinderbox had a playmate called
One day
‘You have no playmate now, why don’t you love and play with this mouse instead? Bring it in the house where it can sit with you beside the fire.’
‘No, No, No’ cried Tinderbox, ‘the mouse is not pretty like
Tinderbox was feeling really sorry for himself; he shed a few tears for his beloved
‘Noodle, Noodle, Noodle, please will you help me? My darling,
Noodle took one look at where the mouse had come from and he said,
‘I bet that evil Thor has put a magic spell on
‘Hocus, pocus, merry mocus, please focus on the eye.’ Then in a puff of magic smoke that appeared from nowhere, Tinderbox was now looking into the beautiful golden eyes of
Tinderbox was so pleased he had listened to King Garfield, he really did want to kill the mouse. He thought it was ugly, gray, and smelly, nothing like his beloved
Old Age by Dorothy Parry
How old are you when you reach old age.
Are you sixty, seventy or eighty?
Are you sad when you reach old age?
No not I, I’m going to live life to the full.
Getting up at six and going to bed at eleven.
I fill my life with work and happiness.
When the end comes to Stafford House I will go.
My room full of books with my cat on the bed.
Do not pity me I am happy in my cocoon.
Please don’t burn my beautiful grey hair.
How sad will you be in old age?
Do you fear dying?
Will you imagine ghosts of people in the past?
Greeting, Fred instead of Michael.
Will you recognise your children?
Or think they are your grand children.
Your mother will be with you in the end.
God rest and don’t worry.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)