A task to write a piece of exactly 250 words for the first Leeds Savage annual. Thought I'd write of a recent experience I'd had discovering what sort of bird I was actully feeding after setting up the ideal bird table system.
The bird feeder
It has been difficult to attract specific birds into the backyard but I have succeeded and am quite proud.
It takes time to build an environment where wild creatures feel their desire for food exceeds the threat of visual exposure. My plan was to attract bullfinch as they are very desirable specimens.
I erected a birdfeeder with two tiers filled with bulk finch mix and a top tier filled with niger seed specifically to attract the bullfinch.
Of course the tits and chaffinch descend first as they are fleet of wing and territorial. The ground feeding dunnocks and blackbirds swiftly follow to clean up the spills. It is necessary to attract these non target species to provide a populous bird environment so the bullfinches become more emboldened.
It is also mandatory to locate the feeder in the open yard to provide good sight lines and maneuverability around the perches. A squirrel-proof baffle is installed to prevent rodents scaring away the bullfinch.
Great fun, my specific bird now happily feasts a couple of times a week in full view of my study window. He glides past my vantage point well shielded by the holly tree, banks and with needle talons extended thrusts majestically to surgically pluck a bullfinch from the air as it tries dumbly to fly into the shrubs. A puff of feathers and a small squeak is the reward for my patience. I watch captivated as the sparrow hawk roosts in the sycamore and hungrily devours his twitching meal.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Farewell a friend
Task for December 15, Pack Horse Inn, Briggate, our first night in our new meeting place. Great night.
A reflective piece
(One man’s reflection on the passing of his youth)
I’ve known young Max since he was just a lad. We shared some of the most wonderful, and the most horrible of times in our lives.
As time has passed, the stories we shared have become my reminiscences. I regret that I can no more join in the exhilaration of racing to our team’s victory, of riding those south coast waves, or of crashing terrified and unhurt from that mountain rally track.
It is now so many years later, and I am again sitting here alone with a pint of ale, in front of a Yorkshire fire which the publican has just stoked. I pause and watch the heat return into the embers, and as I watch I see the orange flames flick through the smoke and lick at the log. The heat on my face triggers a memory of an afternoon sun shining, there is a chase through summer grass in pursuit of giggling and fleet-footed temptress. A sigh vibrates my chest. It was such a long time ago this delight. The end of the chase on that summer afternoon was so illicit, it excites memories still fresh to this day.
I recall the tension and thrill of other adventures we shared. Even now I wonder about the victories we had in our travels and business, and of the toys and homes we owned. Indulging myself in memories like these is a sumptuous and glorious past time I probably spend far too much time doing but as I re-live them again I feel a lopsided grin growing across my face.
The flames have settled back in the hearth and I reflect on the length of time that has passed and how our exuberance waned. I accept that life took away the feeling that every attempt we made would end in a victory. I stare into my glass and I actually pine for that time when we had unending energy, for that confidence that we knew all the answers, and I long for that time when we were ignorant that our actions would let imperfections remorselessly creep into the body.
I still know young Max well, he continues to dream of all the possibilities. Regrettably he is no longer the man of infinite ability and unending optimism he once was.
Young Max has become a man I know less well. He is a thoughtful, considered man, made cautious by experiences both wonderful and horrible.
He is still a man with dreams of what can be, but he tempers them by what should be. He has a body less able and a mind more circumspect. Middle-aged Max is what I call him now, a bad joke he reluctantly shares. However there remains in him a defiant shaft of light and an energy which propels him and makes clear the ambition and the fun that was always present.
I buy myself another ale and realise that I have become concerned about young Max’s passing. As any good friend would be I guess.
Returning to my chair to be warmed by this fire I sip my final ale. Before I leave the pub to go home to my domestic contentment I wonder, will I feel as good about Middle-aged Max in thirty years time as I do now about his predecessor?
I hope so.
Farewell young Max, I will always remember you fondly.
(for those of you who didn’t get it, Max is the narrator)
A reflective piece
(One man’s reflection on the passing of his youth)
I’ve known young Max since he was just a lad. We shared some of the most wonderful, and the most horrible of times in our lives.
As time has passed, the stories we shared have become my reminiscences. I regret that I can no more join in the exhilaration of racing to our team’s victory, of riding those south coast waves, or of crashing terrified and unhurt from that mountain rally track.
It is now so many years later, and I am again sitting here alone with a pint of ale, in front of a Yorkshire fire which the publican has just stoked. I pause and watch the heat return into the embers, and as I watch I see the orange flames flick through the smoke and lick at the log. The heat on my face triggers a memory of an afternoon sun shining, there is a chase through summer grass in pursuit of giggling and fleet-footed temptress. A sigh vibrates my chest. It was such a long time ago this delight. The end of the chase on that summer afternoon was so illicit, it excites memories still fresh to this day.
I recall the tension and thrill of other adventures we shared. Even now I wonder about the victories we had in our travels and business, and of the toys and homes we owned. Indulging myself in memories like these is a sumptuous and glorious past time I probably spend far too much time doing but as I re-live them again I feel a lopsided grin growing across my face.
The flames have settled back in the hearth and I reflect on the length of time that has passed and how our exuberance waned. I accept that life took away the feeling that every attempt we made would end in a victory. I stare into my glass and I actually pine for that time when we had unending energy, for that confidence that we knew all the answers, and I long for that time when we were ignorant that our actions would let imperfections remorselessly creep into the body.
I still know young Max well, he continues to dream of all the possibilities. Regrettably he is no longer the man of infinite ability and unending optimism he once was.
Young Max has become a man I know less well. He is a thoughtful, considered man, made cautious by experiences both wonderful and horrible.
He is still a man with dreams of what can be, but he tempers them by what should be. He has a body less able and a mind more circumspect. Middle-aged Max is what I call him now, a bad joke he reluctantly shares. However there remains in him a defiant shaft of light and an energy which propels him and makes clear the ambition and the fun that was always present.
I buy myself another ale and realise that I have become concerned about young Max’s passing. As any good friend would be I guess.
Returning to my chair to be warmed by this fire I sip my final ale. Before I leave the pub to go home to my domestic contentment I wonder, will I feel as good about Middle-aged Max in thirty years time as I do now about his predecessor?
I hope so.
Farewell young Max, I will always remember you fondly.
(for those of you who didn’t get it, Max is the narrator)
Monday, December 6, 2010
ghost story - newspaper competition - December 4 2010.
Once upon a time there was a newspaper competition asking for new writers to submit a 2000 word ghost story. I submitted this one below but six much worse stories were selected for the short list. I am not bitter about that at all.
An undesirable patron. (2000 word target)
He wasn’t a friend at all, just a bloke I saw most nights usually lingering over a single scotch, crouched alone and watching the regulars come and go. His name was Nick but other than knowing each other's name our only common link was that we were both regulars of the pub.
He’d adopted the ancient table hidden behind the door as his spot. It sort of suited him I guess, his pale face was made indistinct by his lank grey hair, stained beard and ruined teeth. A threadbare brown checked coat added to his worn-out look and made him the ideal occupant for that battered corner. It was never a popular seat, the stained ceiling hung low there and the entry next to it caused it to be a somewhat cold alcove. Not that Nick was ever involved with much, he didn’t exactly exude an essence of bonhomie, so mostly everyone ignored him.
I admit that while I do drop in to the pub most evenings, I go in for a pint with my mates and to warm in front of the fire, so I mostly ignore him too. Sitting where he did though, Nick was in easy earshot of our often animated discussions. He never interjected or passed comment, although I did see him sometimes smiling grimly.
Occasionally I saw Nick sitting in earnest discussion with the odd stranger over the years but none of the regulars paid him any attention. In effect he was like the piece of furniture really, always there but not noticed.
Anyway, today's the anniversary of my father’s death, at least I always think of it as the anniversary. It’s when the Ministry of Defence told us that Dad was missing in action, presumed dead. I was ten at the time and to be honest, I've never got over the unfairness of it.
Last year, on the anniversary, I had again told the lads everything I knew about Dad’s last mission and they had again let me talk it out. That time though, as I was leaving, Nick grabbed my arm and said, hauntingly, “I know about your dad”.
The surprise at being gripped so firmly stopped me dead. He slowly released my arm from his bruising fingers but his icy blue-flecked eyes stayed staring into me. “Sit down with me and I’ll tell you of things I know”.
I remember feeling compelled to sit despite thinking that I didn’t want to listen to this old bloke’s ramblings. Every November I hear tales from veterans who re-tell their stories. I rarely tire of the unassuming way these quiet heroes release their memories but I know from years of questions that there is no record or memory of my father’s last mission so I was in no mood to hear Nick’s rambling tale.
Nick started to tell me events from my Dad’s mission that only I had ever researched. He went on to provide bits that were missing from my searches and records. I couldn’t believe how much detail Nick knew and said he knew and I demanded to be told where he got all this information.
“I said I knew about your Dad” he answered quietly and intently, looking directly at me again.
“In fact I don’t only know about what your dad did, I know he was not killed in action. I also know his whereabouts this very day”
I sat there looking at this strange thin man. He was not smiling, not pretending, he was simply delivering insights into my father’s past and more shocking to me, was about to tell me about my father’s present.
My brain was struggling to make sense of that. I wanted to refuse to accept he was alive. I wanted desperately to meet him. I was angry. I was incredulous, struck dumb. I deeply wanted to reject but Nick’s facts were so credible, so incredible. I stared back blankly into the steely eyes.
“What do you mean? You know where his body is buried?” was the only rational question my brain would allow. My fear just contained.
“No Dave.. I know where he is. Right now”
“I don’t believe you.” Rationality was my last refuge. Any other thought was lunacy.
“What would it take for you to believe me?” Nick stared through narrowed eyes, his pupils coal black and intense.
“I , I don’t know. How can you prove that its my dad? You could show me anyone.”
Nick didn’t even pause to think.
“Your dad will know of things you did together, things you talked of that only the two of you will remember. It will take no time for you to be certain” His voice quiet and firm.
Thoughts flashed like lightening through my clouded brain. He was right of course, the times I have with my kids, I remember the smallest of details for years.
I started to recall days out with my dad. I wondered if he would remember them too.
But this was crazy. Why would my wonderful father have stayed away, left his wife, abandoned his kids, what would have allowed any man who loved his family to do that?
As if reading my thoughts, Nick continued,
“Your dad was given no choice in his actions, he could not make contact with you. But now, I can arrange for you two to meet” For the first time I saw a smile crease his face, it was not a pleasant thing, it was an unnerving gruesome gape.
“How could you do that?” I so needed to remain unconvinced and unwilling.
“Never mind how. What would you do if I could guarantee you can meet your dad again?”
I wasn’t sure but I thought Nick was peddling for some reward or payment so I just looked blankly back at him not knowing how to respond..
“I can make it happen” Nick said smoothly “but I need to know how important it is to you and if it is worth my arranging it. You see, this is a one time offer, the window of opportunity is small and it will pass. I need to know if it is important to you.”
“Well of course it’s important, if my dad is around I'd want to meet him. Of course I want to meet him” I didn’t know what Nick had expected me to answer. Who wouldn’t want to?
“So, what would you do if I could guarantee such a meeting?’ he held that eerie grin.
“I’d do anything” I spat out. “If you can bring my father to me, then I’d do whatever”
“Great!” He said leaning back and straightening himself up. He suddenly looked much less feeble.
“Follow me!” He rose strongly, moved the table aside with ease and strode towards the doorway.
In a sort of emotional trance I caught the urgency of his movements. I trailed behind him into the swirling rain and heaving traffic of the busy high street.
Nick turned to me, his eyes were alive and sparkling now as he said “Come on just across the road and down a bit.” as he headed towards the curb.
I hurried to join him at a gap he’d found torn in the pedestrian fence where the traffic careened past in a solid stream of headlights and spray. No sooner had I joined him than he grabbed my arm with that vice-like hand, and pushing me impossibly hard in the small of my back, he spun me directly into the path of the speeding bus.
In that instant of my imminent death, the last microseconds of my existence took on a slow motion roll. I looked back in horror to see a spectral skull with a yawing yellow toothed grimace where Nick had stood. “You wanted to meet your maker!” it screeched hideously at me. “You are sent now to be with your father” it added in wicked mirth.
I tried to scramble clear but even in the slow roll of my demise I saw the speeding wall of metal would not be escaped.
A world-shattering explosion preceded my scream which pierced the shards of my agony and burst existence. I was tumbling and flailing with a searing pain tearing at every part of me.
Then nothing.
Then the merest hint of a tiny spark of light.
Then nothing.
I have no recollection of the next six months, I am told about the miracle of my survival, of the wondrous works by the paramedics and the surgeons. I am advised of the tiny window of opportunity I squeezed through to survive. I recall being vaguely aware of my wife and children during my recovery from coma.
I know I am here today because of people I’d never met, professionals from all fields, donors of all races and support from all walks of community. I am forever grateful.
I remained mystified about Nick. I've been back to the pub on many occasions since that night. I have had chats with my mates. My story of how my death nearly happened is politely listened to and everyone smiles and nods, then they change the topic. Tonight though, on this years's wretched anniversary of my dad's death , Keith took me aside and said that he had to have a word with me. He was being very serious, a mantle that didn’t fit comfortably on him.
“Mate, I’ve got to tell you, get over it, you have to accept that there never was a Nick, no one threw you into the traffic, you’d just had one pint too many that’s all”
“What?” I was incredulous, “As if I’d walk into traffic!? " I stared at my friend. "You mean to tell me nobody ever saw Nick? He sat at his spot at that corner table every night! I don’t believe you.” I felt like I was being abandoned.
“Dave, no one ever sits at that table, it’s too bloody cold. Sure, sometimes a visitor might squat there for a while but they never stay long. No one has it as ‘their spot’ that’s for sure.”
“I’m not that daft Keith, and I was never that wasted that night”
“Gees Dave, you always get full on your dad’s anniversary, and it’s not like you were the first accident out there you know. People are always getting bowled down. Another punter was turned to pizza a couple of months ago, that’s why they’re putting that new fence there.”
Keith’s confident practicality shocked me. I started to question my memory and sat quietly for a while. Was it booze, or perhaps the drugs, or my coma? If Keith was right then I didn’t know what a real memory was any more.
He slapped me on the shoulder and with a friendly shake added “You’ve just got to stop living in a dream mate” he sat back and said “Your missus told me you shout out "Nic"! in your sleep, she thought you’d been having a bit on the sly. Don’t worry, I've put that to rest for you, but you have to get a grip”
He got up to order another pint leaving me staring at the fire.
It was a couple of minutes before I was snapped out of my muddle by a call to re-join the lads with a fresh pint. I dragged myself up but went to the gents first.
Standing at the hand basin I looked at my torn face in the mirror. I splashed water to cool my eyes before going out to try and slip into to the usual banter. It was good to have mates, good to have survived.
I should get a grip as Keith said.
I walked back into the bar just as a stranger was getting up out of that corner seat. Keith was right, nobody stayed there long.
It was as the stranger was heading onto the street that I glimpsed the back of a grey head and a threadbare brown checked coat leading him out.
I stared transfixed at the door as it slowly shut and my eyes closed over tears as the screams from skidding car tyres and shocked bystanders laid a soundtrack to Nick's latest fatality.
© GregWebster 12/11/2010
An undesirable patron. (2000 word target)
He wasn’t a friend at all, just a bloke I saw most nights usually lingering over a single scotch, crouched alone and watching the regulars come and go. His name was Nick but other than knowing each other's name our only common link was that we were both regulars of the pub.
He’d adopted the ancient table hidden behind the door as his spot. It sort of suited him I guess, his pale face was made indistinct by his lank grey hair, stained beard and ruined teeth. A threadbare brown checked coat added to his worn-out look and made him the ideal occupant for that battered corner. It was never a popular seat, the stained ceiling hung low there and the entry next to it caused it to be a somewhat cold alcove. Not that Nick was ever involved with much, he didn’t exactly exude an essence of bonhomie, so mostly everyone ignored him.
I admit that while I do drop in to the pub most evenings, I go in for a pint with my mates and to warm in front of the fire, so I mostly ignore him too. Sitting where he did though, Nick was in easy earshot of our often animated discussions. He never interjected or passed comment, although I did see him sometimes smiling grimly.
Occasionally I saw Nick sitting in earnest discussion with the odd stranger over the years but none of the regulars paid him any attention. In effect he was like the piece of furniture really, always there but not noticed.
Anyway, today's the anniversary of my father’s death, at least I always think of it as the anniversary. It’s when the Ministry of Defence told us that Dad was missing in action, presumed dead. I was ten at the time and to be honest, I've never got over the unfairness of it.
Last year, on the anniversary, I had again told the lads everything I knew about Dad’s last mission and they had again let me talk it out. That time though, as I was leaving, Nick grabbed my arm and said, hauntingly, “I know about your dad”.
The surprise at being gripped so firmly stopped me dead. He slowly released my arm from his bruising fingers but his icy blue-flecked eyes stayed staring into me. “Sit down with me and I’ll tell you of things I know”.
I remember feeling compelled to sit despite thinking that I didn’t want to listen to this old bloke’s ramblings. Every November I hear tales from veterans who re-tell their stories. I rarely tire of the unassuming way these quiet heroes release their memories but I know from years of questions that there is no record or memory of my father’s last mission so I was in no mood to hear Nick’s rambling tale.
Nick started to tell me events from my Dad’s mission that only I had ever researched. He went on to provide bits that were missing from my searches and records. I couldn’t believe how much detail Nick knew and said he knew and I demanded to be told where he got all this information.
“I said I knew about your Dad” he answered quietly and intently, looking directly at me again.
“In fact I don’t only know about what your dad did, I know he was not killed in action. I also know his whereabouts this very day”
I sat there looking at this strange thin man. He was not smiling, not pretending, he was simply delivering insights into my father’s past and more shocking to me, was about to tell me about my father’s present.
My brain was struggling to make sense of that. I wanted to refuse to accept he was alive. I wanted desperately to meet him. I was angry. I was incredulous, struck dumb. I deeply wanted to reject but Nick’s facts were so credible, so incredible. I stared back blankly into the steely eyes.
“What do you mean? You know where his body is buried?” was the only rational question my brain would allow. My fear just contained.
“No Dave.. I know where he is. Right now”
“I don’t believe you.” Rationality was my last refuge. Any other thought was lunacy.
“What would it take for you to believe me?” Nick stared through narrowed eyes, his pupils coal black and intense.
“I , I don’t know. How can you prove that its my dad? You could show me anyone.”
Nick didn’t even pause to think.
“Your dad will know of things you did together, things you talked of that only the two of you will remember. It will take no time for you to be certain” His voice quiet and firm.
Thoughts flashed like lightening through my clouded brain. He was right of course, the times I have with my kids, I remember the smallest of details for years.
I started to recall days out with my dad. I wondered if he would remember them too.
But this was crazy. Why would my wonderful father have stayed away, left his wife, abandoned his kids, what would have allowed any man who loved his family to do that?
As if reading my thoughts, Nick continued,
“Your dad was given no choice in his actions, he could not make contact with you. But now, I can arrange for you two to meet” For the first time I saw a smile crease his face, it was not a pleasant thing, it was an unnerving gruesome gape.
“How could you do that?” I so needed to remain unconvinced and unwilling.
“Never mind how. What would you do if I could guarantee you can meet your dad again?”
I wasn’t sure but I thought Nick was peddling for some reward or payment so I just looked blankly back at him not knowing how to respond..
“I can make it happen” Nick said smoothly “but I need to know how important it is to you and if it is worth my arranging it. You see, this is a one time offer, the window of opportunity is small and it will pass. I need to know if it is important to you.”
“Well of course it’s important, if my dad is around I'd want to meet him. Of course I want to meet him” I didn’t know what Nick had expected me to answer. Who wouldn’t want to?
“So, what would you do if I could guarantee such a meeting?’ he held that eerie grin.
“I’d do anything” I spat out. “If you can bring my father to me, then I’d do whatever”
“Great!” He said leaning back and straightening himself up. He suddenly looked much less feeble.
“Follow me!” He rose strongly, moved the table aside with ease and strode towards the doorway.
In a sort of emotional trance I caught the urgency of his movements. I trailed behind him into the swirling rain and heaving traffic of the busy high street.
Nick turned to me, his eyes were alive and sparkling now as he said “Come on just across the road and down a bit.” as he headed towards the curb.
I hurried to join him at a gap he’d found torn in the pedestrian fence where the traffic careened past in a solid stream of headlights and spray. No sooner had I joined him than he grabbed my arm with that vice-like hand, and pushing me impossibly hard in the small of my back, he spun me directly into the path of the speeding bus.
In that instant of my imminent death, the last microseconds of my existence took on a slow motion roll. I looked back in horror to see a spectral skull with a yawing yellow toothed grimace where Nick had stood. “You wanted to meet your maker!” it screeched hideously at me. “You are sent now to be with your father” it added in wicked mirth.
I tried to scramble clear but even in the slow roll of my demise I saw the speeding wall of metal would not be escaped.
A world-shattering explosion preceded my scream which pierced the shards of my agony and burst existence. I was tumbling and flailing with a searing pain tearing at every part of me.
Then nothing.
Then the merest hint of a tiny spark of light.
Then nothing.
I have no recollection of the next six months, I am told about the miracle of my survival, of the wondrous works by the paramedics and the surgeons. I am advised of the tiny window of opportunity I squeezed through to survive. I recall being vaguely aware of my wife and children during my recovery from coma.
I know I am here today because of people I’d never met, professionals from all fields, donors of all races and support from all walks of community. I am forever grateful.
I remained mystified about Nick. I've been back to the pub on many occasions since that night. I have had chats with my mates. My story of how my death nearly happened is politely listened to and everyone smiles and nods, then they change the topic. Tonight though, on this years's wretched anniversary of my dad's death , Keith took me aside and said that he had to have a word with me. He was being very serious, a mantle that didn’t fit comfortably on him.
“Mate, I’ve got to tell you, get over it, you have to accept that there never was a Nick, no one threw you into the traffic, you’d just had one pint too many that’s all”
“What?” I was incredulous, “As if I’d walk into traffic!? " I stared at my friend. "You mean to tell me nobody ever saw Nick? He sat at his spot at that corner table every night! I don’t believe you.” I felt like I was being abandoned.
“Dave, no one ever sits at that table, it’s too bloody cold. Sure, sometimes a visitor might squat there for a while but they never stay long. No one has it as ‘their spot’ that’s for sure.”
“I’m not that daft Keith, and I was never that wasted that night”
“Gees Dave, you always get full on your dad’s anniversary, and it’s not like you were the first accident out there you know. People are always getting bowled down. Another punter was turned to pizza a couple of months ago, that’s why they’re putting that new fence there.”
Keith’s confident practicality shocked me. I started to question my memory and sat quietly for a while. Was it booze, or perhaps the drugs, or my coma? If Keith was right then I didn’t know what a real memory was any more.
He slapped me on the shoulder and with a friendly shake added “You’ve just got to stop living in a dream mate” he sat back and said “Your missus told me you shout out "Nic"! in your sleep, she thought you’d been having a bit on the sly. Don’t worry, I've put that to rest for you, but you have to get a grip”
He got up to order another pint leaving me staring at the fire.
It was a couple of minutes before I was snapped out of my muddle by a call to re-join the lads with a fresh pint. I dragged myself up but went to the gents first.
Standing at the hand basin I looked at my torn face in the mirror. I splashed water to cool my eyes before going out to try and slip into to the usual banter. It was good to have mates, good to have survived.
I should get a grip as Keith said.
I walked back into the bar just as a stranger was getting up out of that corner seat. Keith was right, nobody stayed there long.
It was as the stranger was heading onto the street that I glimpsed the back of a grey head and a threadbare brown checked coat leading him out.
I stared transfixed at the door as it slowly shut and my eyes closed over tears as the screams from skidding car tyres and shocked bystanders laid a soundtrack to Nick's latest fatality.
© GregWebster 12/11/2010
Friday, December 3, 2010
A Vole-mas Tale
A Volemas Story.
November 28, 2010. The task was set to write a short Xmas story leading up to the festive season. © GregW. This wasn’t so short.
Verity got a bit of a surprise when she stuck her pink nose out of the burrow and had a big fluffy crystal settle on it. The flake was cold on her bare nose but at the same time it felt sort of crinkly. She raced back to show mummy the present she had been given.
“Oh Dear” Mummy grimaced as Verity watched the flake dissolve in the warmer air.
“Never mind mummy” squeaked Verity, “There are lots more landing outside, I can bring you heaps of them!”.
“No sweetie, I mean ‘oh dear’ winter has arrived very early. I'm not ready... There is so much we have to do.” And she started to bustle around making lots of clear spaces.
“Come on Verity, help your mother. You can clean out your brothers' and sisters' space for me, and after that, well, oh deary me, there is so much more for us to do! So little time....”
Verity busied herself doing as she was told, a bit perplexed at her mother's urgency. When all the sleeping places were clean, and many more cleared spaces had been made, Mummy sat Verity down and tried to speak very calmly to her.
“You and I are going out to find seeds and fill all the spaces we have made with food for the winter”.
“What is, win-ter” Verity asked trying to make sure she said the new word right.
Mummy was a bit distracted as all the children had now woken up and wanted a feed.
Laying on her side, Mummy said “Winter is a cold time, a long time, when there is very little food for us all. We will get very tired and we won’t want to go out in the cold. So now we have to collect lots of food to last us through winter.” Verity could tell mummy was trying to be very patient with her.
“But Mummy”, Verity wondered, “won’t Daddy and Russell come back and help?"
A very sad look came over Mummy’s face, “No sweetie, When the big birds took Russell and Daddy away it was for a very long time and they won’t be coming back to help”.
“But that’s not fair.” complained Verity, not really knowing what a big-birds was. More new words.
“I know sweetie but you just make sure to look up for any big birds and run and hide when you see one.” Mummy was distracted as she began to clean up after the children’s meal.
“Okay” Verity said, and Mummy headed off to look outside, Verity knew she must stay and care for the children.
Mummy got to the burrow entrance and let out a big sigh when she saw how deep the snow was, she turned and came back to where Verity was pushing the fed and sleepy children back into their nest.
Mummy looked very worried, then slowly she got a bright look in her eyes and spoke excitedly to Verity.
“What you and I are going to do today is very, very exciting” she said. “we are going to explore the ‘not-outside’ place!”
This was too many new words for Verity to understand but because mummy had said to be excited, she was excited. “Let’s go then!” she squeaked and dashed off down the entry burrow.
“Verity!” Called out mummy, “Not that way. The ‘not outside’ place is this way”. And she led Verity to the very back of the nest burrow, down and up a long tunnel, at the end of which was a big, long, flat piece of wood on one side of the tunnel. The way through here was a bit narrow but plenty big enough for a vole. From under the long flat wood, through little gaps, came some light, and some warm air carrying a scent of smoke but mostly a nose filling smell of foody stuff. Verity had no idea what the smells could be. She was really excited and scampered back and forth along the wood wall smelling each little gap until Mummy caught her by the tail and went “Shhhh!” which Verity knew meant be still and quiet.
It was very hard to be still and quiet when there was warm and deliciousness so close.
Mummy said in a very soft voice, that in the ‘not outside’ place, there was sometimes lots of lovely food, but, she had to make sure there was nothing moving in the ‘not outside’ place before they went looking for it.
Then Mummy asked Verity to follow her along beside the flat wood. They came to a big piece of stone. Here the wood and the stone left a gap. Verity could see a vole-sized hole had been chewed to make the gap bigger..
Mummy was looking out of the hole and her tail was twitching as she sniffed the air.
She popped her head back in to look at Verity and said. You wait here, I am going to be back very, very soon.
True to her word she disappeared out the hole and in no time at all had returned with a seed bigger than any Verity had ever seen before, it was all black with white stripes and smelled glorious. Before Verity could stop marveling at this wonder Mummy had left and returned again, this time with a smaller brown seed with a little bump on its end that smelled, if it were possible, even more delicious and in desperate need of a taste.
“Verity!’ Mummy scolded, suddenly a bit cross, don’t be there smelling them, take them back to the burrow and start stacking them in the store spaces we made. Reluctantly Verity complied and worked very hard to keep up with the supply of seeds mummy was collecting..
After many trips to and fro, Mummy stopped for a rest and told Verity that there were so many seeds and things called crumbs, another new word, 'not outside' it might be best if they both collected and just bought it all back in here.
It was just then that loud noises came from the ‘not outside’ place and they scared Verity a lot.
Mummy again said ‘Shhh!’ and Verity did.
~~
The kitchen door creaked as it always did. Alice didn’t even hear it any more, it was just part of the house and it’s bumps and lumps, she probably would have been more surprised if her ancient home stopped creaking and groaning.
“Tsk tsk tsk” she tutted as she cast her eyes around the kitchen floor. “Margaret!” she called out. “Margaret! Come here will you? Right now please” as she opened a tall cupboard and took out a broom.
“Yes Auntie?” said Margaret, pulling a strand of hair from her sticky lips while peering into the kitchen. Auntie Alice’s call had the sound of trouble and Margaret came with a worried look.
“Didn’t your mother teach you to clean up after yourself? Look at this place, bread and honey left out, butter not back in the fridge, crumbs everywhere. You are a big girl now and you know to be tidy. I want to be able to tell your mum and dad how good you are so they will let you come and spend more visits in the country.”
“Yes Auntie”, it really was worth the extra chores to be here with Auntie but especially with her horses. And tomorrow was cooking day, Auntie had promised that they would use the big mixer and the oven and she could lick the bowls if she was a very good helper.
“I don’t mean to be cross with you dear” Auntie continued, “but we don’t want to have pesky little rodents scurrying through our kitchen do we?”
“No Auntie” lied Margaret. She would love to see a little mouse.
“All right then you set-to and tidy up here while I go outside and clear a path to the barn. This snow may be fun to for you but it doesn’t half make my life difficult.”
And with that Margaret was left alone in the kitchen, with the broom.
Cleaning up was a bit difficult as the table was very high, so after giving the floor a sweep or two she pulled the chair over and climbed up to clean the crumbs from the surfaces. The wood grain of the table made nice lines and the crumbs were fun to push around like cars on a road. Margaret knelt on the chair for some time quietly playing with the crumbs.
~~
Behind the flat wood, keeping very quiet and away from the hole, Verity and mummy hid, listening to the big noises. After a while everything went very quiet and mummy sneaked a peek through the hole again. There were seeds and crumbs very close now and she looked around and could see nothing move except the flames in the big box at the other end of the ‘not outside’ place.
“Verity”
“Yes mummy”
“There is lots of food very close to the hole here, I think it is safe. You should help me quickly”.
Verity was so pleased mummy trusted her like this. Checking that nothing moved every time, they busily dashed in and out collecting all the yummy food they could as quickly as they could. It was very hard for Verity not to nibble a crumb or two, just a little bit.
~~
Margaret watched very quietly from her high perch as the two little voles dashed in and out looking around and then grabbing the tiny morsels and shuffling away behind the skirting board.
They are so cute Margaret thought, I do hope Auntie doesn’t see them.
Whenever the mouses went behind the skirting board Margaret would throw some of her crumbs down, each time a little further away from the hole.
~~
Eventually Mummy stopped collecting and said “I think we have enough food now to take back and store for today”. Carrying and placing all the different sorts of food into the storage places is very tiring work and Verity was soon nestling in to sleep in her straw and feather nest.
Verity woke well before she would normally have and she darted quietly past where mummy was sleeping , past the wriggling children who would soon be demanding food, then down and up to the vole sized hole in the wood wall.
Very carefully she looked out into the ‘not outside’ place to make sure there was no moving thing. What she saw was amazing. It was just outside the hole. It was a long sort of a seed, bigger than any food thing Verity had ever seen. It smelled so wonderful Verity just had to try to have a nibble. She was very nervous and taking a last long look around she dashed out. Her teeth sank in easily and the flood of flavour and smell was wonderous. Verity looked back at the hole as she swallowed a morsel. She didn’t know if she could drag the huge seed back all that way. She tried to pull it with her mouth but her claws kept slipping on the smooth ground. Try as she might, pushing or pulling, she couldn’t make the seed go where she wanted.
Suddenly there was a huge noise and a big animal breath smell, sort of sweet but scary too. Verity looked around and then up.
OH Gosh! She nearly screamed.
Looking down at her from very high up was a huge animal with hair hanging down, it’s mouth opening and closing and horrible sounds shaking the air all around.
Verity froze for a second.
This must be the big bird thing Mummy had warned her of. She was sure she was going to be taken to where Daddy and Russell were and away from mummy and all the lovely food.
Verity didn’t want to leave.
The big animal bared its teeth and made some more noise but it didn’t move.
Verity took the chance and made a dash back into the hole, down the tunnel and all the way back to the nest panting and puffing.
“Gracious Verity what ever have you been up to?” asked Mummy.
Verity explained all that had happened as Mummy preened at her coat.
“I can smell the seed on your breath.” Mummy said. It does smell delicious she thought.
~~
Margaret was ecstatic. She had got up very early, cleaned the kitchen floor and placed a peanut just outside the mouse hole hoping against hope a little mouse would come back. And here it was.
It was sooooo cute.
And as the tiny fury thing tried to take the nut away she said. “Hello little mousie”
The poor little mouse jumped and stared frozen at her. Smiling she said “Don’t be scared, I wont hurt you” “If you leave it there I will make it smaller for you.” but the cute little thing ran away.
Nevertheless, Margaret broke the peanut into tiny pieces and pushed them into the corner and right into the hole where Auntie wouldn’t see them.
‘Happy Christmas little mouses” she said as she left to make Auntie a cup of tea before breakfast. Today was cooking day and she would make sure the little mouses would find a good selection of Christmas baking crumbs right at their doorway.
~~
Much, much later that night when everything was really, really quiet in the ‘not outside’ place, Mummy and Verity, being very brave, found lots of scrumptious food pushed into their vole hole and they danced and jumped around with the taste and aromas of the gifts that the ‘not outside”’ place had given them.
By the end of the night the burrow was full of food and Mummy was happy she was not going to be hungry, which meant that the children were not going to be hungry and they and Verity would grow up to be very happy voles indeed.
~~
It was a good time for everyone in the farmhouse that year, despite the snow.
November 28, 2010. The task was set to write a short Xmas story leading up to the festive season. © GregW. This wasn’t so short.
Verity got a bit of a surprise when she stuck her pink nose out of the burrow and had a big fluffy crystal settle on it. The flake was cold on her bare nose but at the same time it felt sort of crinkly. She raced back to show mummy the present she had been given.
“Oh Dear” Mummy grimaced as Verity watched the flake dissolve in the warmer air.
“Never mind mummy” squeaked Verity, “There are lots more landing outside, I can bring you heaps of them!”.
“No sweetie, I mean ‘oh dear’ winter has arrived very early. I'm not ready... There is so much we have to do.” And she started to bustle around making lots of clear spaces.
“Come on Verity, help your mother. You can clean out your brothers' and sisters' space for me, and after that, well, oh deary me, there is so much more for us to do! So little time....”
Verity busied herself doing as she was told, a bit perplexed at her mother's urgency. When all the sleeping places were clean, and many more cleared spaces had been made, Mummy sat Verity down and tried to speak very calmly to her.
“You and I are going out to find seeds and fill all the spaces we have made with food for the winter”.
“What is, win-ter” Verity asked trying to make sure she said the new word right.
Mummy was a bit distracted as all the children had now woken up and wanted a feed.
Laying on her side, Mummy said “Winter is a cold time, a long time, when there is very little food for us all. We will get very tired and we won’t want to go out in the cold. So now we have to collect lots of food to last us through winter.” Verity could tell mummy was trying to be very patient with her.
“But Mummy”, Verity wondered, “won’t Daddy and Russell come back and help?"
A very sad look came over Mummy’s face, “No sweetie, When the big birds took Russell and Daddy away it was for a very long time and they won’t be coming back to help”.
“But that’s not fair.” complained Verity, not really knowing what a big-birds was. More new words.
“I know sweetie but you just make sure to look up for any big birds and run and hide when you see one.” Mummy was distracted as she began to clean up after the children’s meal.
“Okay” Verity said, and Mummy headed off to look outside, Verity knew she must stay and care for the children.
Mummy got to the burrow entrance and let out a big sigh when she saw how deep the snow was, she turned and came back to where Verity was pushing the fed and sleepy children back into their nest.
Mummy looked very worried, then slowly she got a bright look in her eyes and spoke excitedly to Verity.
“What you and I are going to do today is very, very exciting” she said. “we are going to explore the ‘not-outside’ place!”
This was too many new words for Verity to understand but because mummy had said to be excited, she was excited. “Let’s go then!” she squeaked and dashed off down the entry burrow.
“Verity!” Called out mummy, “Not that way. The ‘not outside’ place is this way”. And she led Verity to the very back of the nest burrow, down and up a long tunnel, at the end of which was a big, long, flat piece of wood on one side of the tunnel. The way through here was a bit narrow but plenty big enough for a vole. From under the long flat wood, through little gaps, came some light, and some warm air carrying a scent of smoke but mostly a nose filling smell of foody stuff. Verity had no idea what the smells could be. She was really excited and scampered back and forth along the wood wall smelling each little gap until Mummy caught her by the tail and went “Shhhh!” which Verity knew meant be still and quiet.
It was very hard to be still and quiet when there was warm and deliciousness so close.
Mummy said in a very soft voice, that in the ‘not outside’ place, there was sometimes lots of lovely food, but, she had to make sure there was nothing moving in the ‘not outside’ place before they went looking for it.
Then Mummy asked Verity to follow her along beside the flat wood. They came to a big piece of stone. Here the wood and the stone left a gap. Verity could see a vole-sized hole had been chewed to make the gap bigger..
Mummy was looking out of the hole and her tail was twitching as she sniffed the air.
She popped her head back in to look at Verity and said. You wait here, I am going to be back very, very soon.
True to her word she disappeared out the hole and in no time at all had returned with a seed bigger than any Verity had ever seen before, it was all black with white stripes and smelled glorious. Before Verity could stop marveling at this wonder Mummy had left and returned again, this time with a smaller brown seed with a little bump on its end that smelled, if it were possible, even more delicious and in desperate need of a taste.
“Verity!’ Mummy scolded, suddenly a bit cross, don’t be there smelling them, take them back to the burrow and start stacking them in the store spaces we made. Reluctantly Verity complied and worked very hard to keep up with the supply of seeds mummy was collecting..
After many trips to and fro, Mummy stopped for a rest and told Verity that there were so many seeds and things called crumbs, another new word, 'not outside' it might be best if they both collected and just bought it all back in here.
It was just then that loud noises came from the ‘not outside’ place and they scared Verity a lot.
Mummy again said ‘Shhh!’ and Verity did.
~~
The kitchen door creaked as it always did. Alice didn’t even hear it any more, it was just part of the house and it’s bumps and lumps, she probably would have been more surprised if her ancient home stopped creaking and groaning.
“Tsk tsk tsk” she tutted as she cast her eyes around the kitchen floor. “Margaret!” she called out. “Margaret! Come here will you? Right now please” as she opened a tall cupboard and took out a broom.
“Yes Auntie?” said Margaret, pulling a strand of hair from her sticky lips while peering into the kitchen. Auntie Alice’s call had the sound of trouble and Margaret came with a worried look.
“Didn’t your mother teach you to clean up after yourself? Look at this place, bread and honey left out, butter not back in the fridge, crumbs everywhere. You are a big girl now and you know to be tidy. I want to be able to tell your mum and dad how good you are so they will let you come and spend more visits in the country.”
“Yes Auntie”, it really was worth the extra chores to be here with Auntie but especially with her horses. And tomorrow was cooking day, Auntie had promised that they would use the big mixer and the oven and she could lick the bowls if she was a very good helper.
“I don’t mean to be cross with you dear” Auntie continued, “but we don’t want to have pesky little rodents scurrying through our kitchen do we?”
“No Auntie” lied Margaret. She would love to see a little mouse.
“All right then you set-to and tidy up here while I go outside and clear a path to the barn. This snow may be fun to for you but it doesn’t half make my life difficult.”
And with that Margaret was left alone in the kitchen, with the broom.
Cleaning up was a bit difficult as the table was very high, so after giving the floor a sweep or two she pulled the chair over and climbed up to clean the crumbs from the surfaces. The wood grain of the table made nice lines and the crumbs were fun to push around like cars on a road. Margaret knelt on the chair for some time quietly playing with the crumbs.
~~
Behind the flat wood, keeping very quiet and away from the hole, Verity and mummy hid, listening to the big noises. After a while everything went very quiet and mummy sneaked a peek through the hole again. There were seeds and crumbs very close now and she looked around and could see nothing move except the flames in the big box at the other end of the ‘not outside’ place.
“Verity”
“Yes mummy”
“There is lots of food very close to the hole here, I think it is safe. You should help me quickly”.
Verity was so pleased mummy trusted her like this. Checking that nothing moved every time, they busily dashed in and out collecting all the yummy food they could as quickly as they could. It was very hard for Verity not to nibble a crumb or two, just a little bit.
~~
Margaret watched very quietly from her high perch as the two little voles dashed in and out looking around and then grabbing the tiny morsels and shuffling away behind the skirting board.
They are so cute Margaret thought, I do hope Auntie doesn’t see them.
Whenever the mouses went behind the skirting board Margaret would throw some of her crumbs down, each time a little further away from the hole.
~~
Eventually Mummy stopped collecting and said “I think we have enough food now to take back and store for today”. Carrying and placing all the different sorts of food into the storage places is very tiring work and Verity was soon nestling in to sleep in her straw and feather nest.
Verity woke well before she would normally have and she darted quietly past where mummy was sleeping , past the wriggling children who would soon be demanding food, then down and up to the vole sized hole in the wood wall.
Very carefully she looked out into the ‘not outside’ place to make sure there was no moving thing. What she saw was amazing. It was just outside the hole. It was a long sort of a seed, bigger than any food thing Verity had ever seen. It smelled so wonderful Verity just had to try to have a nibble. She was very nervous and taking a last long look around she dashed out. Her teeth sank in easily and the flood of flavour and smell was wonderous. Verity looked back at the hole as she swallowed a morsel. She didn’t know if she could drag the huge seed back all that way. She tried to pull it with her mouth but her claws kept slipping on the smooth ground. Try as she might, pushing or pulling, she couldn’t make the seed go where she wanted.
Suddenly there was a huge noise and a big animal breath smell, sort of sweet but scary too. Verity looked around and then up.
OH Gosh! She nearly screamed.
Looking down at her from very high up was a huge animal with hair hanging down, it’s mouth opening and closing and horrible sounds shaking the air all around.
Verity froze for a second.
This must be the big bird thing Mummy had warned her of. She was sure she was going to be taken to where Daddy and Russell were and away from mummy and all the lovely food.
Verity didn’t want to leave.
The big animal bared its teeth and made some more noise but it didn’t move.
Verity took the chance and made a dash back into the hole, down the tunnel and all the way back to the nest panting and puffing.
“Gracious Verity what ever have you been up to?” asked Mummy.
Verity explained all that had happened as Mummy preened at her coat.
“I can smell the seed on your breath.” Mummy said. It does smell delicious she thought.
~~
Margaret was ecstatic. She had got up very early, cleaned the kitchen floor and placed a peanut just outside the mouse hole hoping against hope a little mouse would come back. And here it was.
It was sooooo cute.
And as the tiny fury thing tried to take the nut away she said. “Hello little mousie”
The poor little mouse jumped and stared frozen at her. Smiling she said “Don’t be scared, I wont hurt you” “If you leave it there I will make it smaller for you.” but the cute little thing ran away.
Nevertheless, Margaret broke the peanut into tiny pieces and pushed them into the corner and right into the hole where Auntie wouldn’t see them.
‘Happy Christmas little mouses” she said as she left to make Auntie a cup of tea before breakfast. Today was cooking day and she would make sure the little mouses would find a good selection of Christmas baking crumbs right at their doorway.
~~
Much, much later that night when everything was really, really quiet in the ‘not outside’ place, Mummy and Verity, being very brave, found lots of scrumptious food pushed into their vole hole and they danced and jumped around with the taste and aromas of the gifts that the ‘not outside”’ place had given them.
By the end of the night the burrow was full of food and Mummy was happy she was not going to be hungry, which meant that the children were not going to be hungry and they and Verity would grow up to be very happy voles indeed.
~~
It was a good time for everyone in the farmhouse that year, despite the snow.
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