Writing out of my experience

 

I have always been a pacifist and if I had ever been in the position of fighting in a war, I would have been a conscientious objector and, gone to prison. Writing out of my experience I deduced would therefore be writing from the opposite perspective.

I remember in 19405/6 I asked my mother why there was a house in the Cresent with hedges so high and thick that one couldn't see the house or into the garden. The reply was that the people who lived there were conchies. She then explained what a conscientious objector was. 

March 1915 somewhere on the Western Front

The mud is deep and thick. It is also frozen. The temperature has been below freezing for days. The men are dying like flies, not only from bullets or bombs or grenades but from flu. Spanish flu. They have no idea why it is called Spanish flu. German flu would have made more sense. All night long explosions are loud, and the night sky is occasionally lit up like fireworks but the two squaddies sharing a cigarette know otherwise.

"I can't stand this," says Tom.

"What choice have you got mate. It's not like you can hail a taxi and ----"

"Don't be daft man. I have heard of some blokes shooting themselves in the foot. They get sent home."

His mate Jack says, “I suppose that’s one way out. I am too much of a coward to do that.”

Tom asks, “What brought you here anyway?”

“Me Dad I suppose. And the neighbours. And the newspapers. And the bloody posters. I couldn’t sleep. All I could hear was, "coward, coward, coward”. So 'ere I am. In the trenches. O' course, I’m frightened as well. I am terrified. I write home as often as possible because I am here to make my father proud of me. He told me that if I didn’t sign up, he would disown me. I love me Dad and didn’t want him to be ashamed of me. He and me mother took me to the station (me mother was crying o' course). They wanted to give me a family send off. He actually shook my hand. “

“I wonder if he would be proud of you if you could see you now, soaked to the skin, freezing cold, dying of hunger and shivering from fear.”

“Well, that’s the last of the ciggies. And there’s no food left. “

“What the bloody hell is that.”

“ShShSh. Don’t move. Someone is creeping along the trench. I can just see his helmet. It’s a bloody Gerry.”

“I can’t kill another man, Gerry or no Gerry.”

“You must. If we don’t kill him, he'll kill us.”

The German faced them and pointed his rifle.

The squaddies faced the German and aimed their rifles at him.

Just then a grenade exploded in the trench at the same time as the two squaddies and the German fired their guns.

Jack’s mother opened the door to receive the telegram.

“Well, are you satisfied now,” she said to his father, “Are you proud? Here you read it.”

Of course, it said,” KILLED IN ACTION”.

Last Line First

 Last Line First

I knew I had flaws. Despite my vanity and pride, my quick temper, my eccentricities and rapacious literary ambitions, I believe Paul had truly loved me. He had been an exciting and wonderful lover. Yes, Paul was the love of my life, the one who would for ever live in my heart.

As for my feminist leanings, the remark he had once made that he never objected to my "hobbies", nor ever attempted to confine me in any way, was perfectly true. At least that is what he told himself.

He was a musician and at first, I attended all his concerts and in truth some rehearsals too. I even flew back from Italy, where I was on holiday, to hear him perform the Bruch violin concerto. But, early on I recognised that there was a danger of my life revolving around his. At first, I managed to write in the margins as it were during his rehearsals. Writing, unlike music is silent and moreover can be done discretely. There was no paraphernalia. Unlike the amount of baggage, he hawked around. It wasn't just the instruments (he played the French horn and the trumpet as well as the fiddle for a time) it was the bags of music, and the music stands and sometimes amps and mics. At first no-one knew that I was a writer not even him.

I am not sure how it came about but people started to ask,” What are you writing?” and “I hope that is not a crit of the band.” and “Are you a journalist?”

 I would look up, smile and continue to write. Then I thought why not say more. So sometimes I'd say, “I am writing a short story.” or “It's my diary.”  Next, I elaborated, and I'd say,” It's the last chapter of my novel. I have to get it to the publisher.”

I had to change my replies because people started to want to know more and they would ask, "What's it about? And “What kind of novel is it? Detective? Historical? Love story? “

That did it. I had a light bulb moment. I asked myself some questions. “What in God's name was I doing? I wanted to be a writer. I had an office in my house with a damn good desk, a bookcase full of reference books, a telephone at my elbow, and even a computer which gave me access to Wikipedia.”

At about that time ten copies of my autobiography which I had self- published arrived. Of course, Jack knew nothing about it. He hadn't seen me writing it, nor had he been aware that I was communicating with a publisher. When I received the first copies, I put them on my well stocked shelves of books, and he never noticed. That all changed when my friend, Janet, suggested that she wanted to help me to take it from the page to the stage. She did most of the writing here, but I suggested which parts I thought would work and she wrote them. Janet had written a couple of plays and performed them around Liverpool and Manchester to great acclaim. We had a mutual friend who had produced and directed her plays and was willing to do the same for me. Keith was gay and a really good friend who frequently accompanied me to exhibitions and theatre productions. On one occasion when I told Paul that I was going to Manchester with Keith he seemed upset and objected. 

“You know Keith's gay, don't you? “I said. 

To which he replied, “Does he have a certificate to prove it?”

He was a good producer and director. We were lucky enough to perform my play in a prestigious theatre and it was well attended. The audience were very appreciative. Jack didn't appear. He knew the date, the venue and the performance time. A huge bouquet arrived at the theatre from him for me. Later, he didn't ask about the performance, but he did ask if I had received the bouquet. He wanted praise for his exceptional thoughtfulness.

I managed at last, to end the relationship. For now, I had become what I had always longed to be, a woman of letters.

Quote -Georgia O'Keefe

I wrote this in 2011 

One works because it is the most interesting thing one knows to do. The day one works are the best days. On the other days one is hurrying through the other things one imagines one has to do to keep one's life going. You get the garden planted. You get the roof fixed. You take the dog for a walk.You spend the day with a friend...You may even enjoy doing such things...But always you are hurrying through these things with a certain amount of aggravation so that you can get at the paintings again because that is the high-in a way it is what you do all the other things for...The painting is like a thread that runs through all the reasons for all the other things that make one's life.

This applies to me except the ' work' has changed from weaving to painting, to writing and now it seems to be gardening. And also for the past ten years learning French.

 The interesting idea which has come through is that the first quote comes first. No matter what the 'work' is I have to be alone and when I go to bed I like to know that I have achieved.

Where am I?

The Loss of Self

I have lost myself.  I am invisible. I don't know where I am. 

I can see an elderly woman in my house. She uses my bathroom, and sleeps in my bed. I have no idea who she is.

I try to find myself when she is in the bathroom. I look in the mirror. The bathroom mirror is/was always my favourite. 

I am not there, not in the mirror. My mother is there. But she can't be can she? She died 30 years ago and yet there she is.

The woman dresses in my clothes then goes slowly, ever so slowly, downstairs clinging to the banister. In the kitchen she puts on the kettle to make a cup of tea. As she reaches up to take a cup out of the cupboard, I notice her hand.  It is wrinkled and blue veins tell me that she is indeed very old. She makes the tea and takes it into the garden. She stops by the back door where she locates a walking stick. She carefully, oh, so carefully with the help of the stick,  mounts the three steps which take her to my favourite seat.

I think, "You can't sit there. That's my seat. I like it because I can see all of the garden from there." 

Back in the house I watch her eat my food. Throughout the day she moves about my house, reading, watching TV, and writing. She even went in my studio and added a few strokes to the painting that I have been trying to finish since Xmas.

Where, oh, where am I? I am invisible. Am I looking down from above? At the end of the day she, the elderly woman climbs the stairs, undresses and climbs into my bed. I try to find myself again in the big mirror above the dressing table. I am not there. My sister is there. She is often there. How can that be? She died before my mother.

So where am I? And who is this elderly woman who is living in my house?

Literature

 I have been reading about literature and feeling ignorant. The two writers whose books have made an impression on me are Christopher Hitchens and Virginia Woolf. CH was knowledgeable about the world, politics and literature. VW thought deeply about the written word. She theorised about the construction of stories and novels. She communicated with other writers e.g.  Arnold Bennet. She was bored with novels and wanted to create a new way of structuring her novels.  Her first experiment with this was "Jacob's Room.

I have discovered that I can educate myself on Google and Wiki about this. I didn't know that she had written a book of short stories. I shall go to the library and borrow VG's books.  This is a good site to explore.    Interesting Literature

Faith

This was published. It made my day.  

Dear Writers' Forum, I have always connected faith to religion and being a devout atheist, I had no truck with it. I am a humanist. When I read "Tales of my Guru" by Hugh Scott (July 2022), it was a revelation. That's what I need, I told myself, faith in my ability to write. So, I opened my laptop wrote two stories for my writing groups  and this letter. Thank you, Hugh Scott, and thank you Writers' Forum. 

Yours faithfully, 

Jean Wild 

PS Loved the cartoon on page 5 too. Also, by Hugh Scott.  

Iris in Fairy Tale Land

 Iris was staying at her Nana's for the Summer Holidays. It was quite late when she arrived on the first day because she had travelled from England to Brittany where Nana lived.

"I think we should have supper and a bedtime story. We can get up early in the morning and after breakfast you can explore outside in the garden."

So, when Iris was tucked up in bed Nana opened the big book of Fairy Stories that she always read for the grandchildren. 

“Can I just sing you a new song I learned in school last week," said Iris.

"OK. Then one story and eyes closed."

" It's called, "The Crocodile"

"She sailed away on a sunny, sunny day on the back of a crocodile.

You see," said she," he's as tame as tame can be I'll float him down the Nile.

The croc winked his eye as she waved her friends goodbye wearing a happy smile.

But at the end of the ride, the lady was inside,

And the smile was on the crocodile."

"Very funny," said Nana. "Now don't go dreaming about crocodiles."

"I won't," said Iris as she snuggled under the covers and closed her eyes.

 Before Nana had barely begun to read Iris was fast asleep. She drew the curtains, closed the book, put it on the bedside table and crept downstairs.

It was about midnight when Iris turned over and felt a heavy weight on her legs. She sat up and was surprised to see a big black cat sitting on her legs and staring at her. "It's OK. Don't be afraid. I have come to invite you to a wedding."

"Our wedding," said the huge white owl which seemed to appear from nowhere. "You see," said the cat, "By the way you can call me Pussy, you see we renew our vows when there is a full moon in the summer.  We do it every year."

"Would you like to come to our wedding. I know you didn't expect an invitation to a wedding on your first night, but we need your help".

Iris was, what shall I say stunned, shocked, surprised and it must have shown on her face because Pussy said, "Oh dear maybe we should ask someone else to help.

" The Owl butted in," You know very well there is no-one else to help. I am sure she will do an excellent job.

"Of course, I would like to help," said Iris now interested and a little excited, "How can I be of service?"

"OK, here is the situation. We got back yesterday from the land where the Bong tree grows and where we bought the ring from the pig who stood in the wood. Now we want to get married again by the light of the moon, tonight. We, that's Owl and me have a lot of preparations. I shall get the food ready, and Owl wants to practise a new tune on the guitar."

"Right, so what is it that you want me to do?"

"I, er, we, would like you to remind people to come. Here you are. Here is a list. All the animals on the list live in Nana's garden. They know the routine. They come every year, but they need reminding."

Iris took the list which she read out loud. " The 3 Little Pigs, The 3 Billy Goats Gruff, The 3 Bears and The Princess and the Frog and Winnie the witch. Great. How will I find them?”

“I have drawn a map. It is quite simple. I will explain everything. I suggest the 3 little pigs first. They live in the wood. Here in the top right had corner, I have marked it with a cross. Then go to the small pool with the bridge. I have marked a cross there too. Go over the bridge and you will find the 3 billy goats gruff there eating the grass. Probably your next bet will be the 3 bears. They live in the old stone barn. You know where that is. Next, I suggest the Princess and the frog. They live on either side of the very small pond. Again, marked with a cross. Last but not least go to the Willow House where you will find Winnie. She is sometimes a bit grumpy, but she will give you a lift on her broomstick to the wedding ceremony."

" What is that big round thing that says danger in big red letters?" asked Iris. 

"Oh, sorry about that, should have told you. That's where the crocodile lives. He eats most things. Animals, humans, in fact anything that gets near to him. But most of us who live here in this garden know about him and never ever go near the big pond. Now off you go there is no time to lose.”

With that, the Owl and the Pussy cat disappeared. “Where have they gone? Oh well, I'd better get cracking,” Thought Iris, but I'm not going to go near the crocodile, no sir". And off she went on her quest. Outside she looked at the map again and proceeded to the wood. She had been in the wood many times, but she had no idea that the 3 Little Pigs lived there. As she stood at the edge wondering which path to take one of the little pigs appeared. “What do you want little girl," he said. “You haven't seen the Big Bad Wolf, you? "

“No, no I haven't seen the Big Bad Wolf. I have come to remind you about the wedding. The Owl and the Pussy Cat's ---”

“Yes, yes, we know all about the wedding. We go every year, but you be very careful, he eats little girls you know.”

“Who does?" said Iris. “The big bad wolf,” said the pig and went into the wood calling for the other two pigs. “Come on you two, we are going to the wedding again.”

Then he appeared  again and shouted, " Don't go to the big pond."

Iris turned and ran down the path as marked on the map to the small pond with the bridge. She started to walk over the bridge. " Who's that trip-trapping over my bridge?"

" Oh no," said Iris out loud. "They didn't tell me the Ugly troll was still here."

"Who are you calling ugly little girl?"

"No, no, I didn't mean, I am so sorry. Do you know about the wedding? Maybe you would like to come to a wedding. It must be really boring living under a bridge and repeating the same old, same old. Who's that trip trapping, blah blah--"

"Whose wedding is it and where is it?" said the Troll interrupting Iris.

"The Owl and the Pussy Cat are getting married tonight in this garden. There will be music and dancing and lovely food. It will be great. But if you want to come you must promise that you will let the Three Billy Goats Gruff come over the bridge without harassing them. You don't want Great Big Billy Goat Gruff to throw you in the water, do you?"

The Troll ducked under the bridge muttering something which Iris took to be a promise.

She went over the bridge into the field where all the Billy Goats had stopped eating grass and were staring at Iris. Great Big Billy Goat said, "What on earth did you say to the Troll. Why didn't he eat you?"

"I am afraid I called him ugly, but I did invite him to the wedding. You are invited too. The Owl and the Pussy Cat are getting married by the light of the moon tonight. The Troll has promised to let you all come over the bridge."

All 3 Billy Goats jumped up and down a few times then ran to the bridge where they stopped. "Are you sure he will let us pass?"   Iris wasn't at all sure. She had never dealt with a Troll before, but she said," Of course, he promised."

Just then the troll reared his head and roared loudly, as only Trolls can and said," Over you go. Quickly now before I change my mind."

" I had better go and find the 3 Bears," thought Iris. Great Big Billy Goat Gruff turned back and shouted to Iris. "What about the Big Bad Wolf, he likes to eat little girls."

"So, I've been told. But I haven't seen him or heard him tonight. I am going to visit Winnie the witch later. Do you think she will be able to deal with him?"

"Worth a try," he said. "And keep away from the big pond."

The 3 Billy Goats gruff who were followed at some distance by the Troll, went on their way and Iris went to the old barn to find the 3 Bears.

She knocked on the door and then pushed it open. She wondered if the Bears were dangerous. Goldilocks obviously thought so. I wonder where she is now.

"Who are you and what do you want?" said a bear that Iris assumed was Daddy Bear. He was enormous. "My name is Iris. I am staying at my Nana's house, and I have come to remind you to go to the wedding. The Owl and the Pussy Cat are getting married tonight by the light of the moon."

" Are you sure that you haven't come to steal our food and sleep in our beds like that Goldilocks girl?"

"And she broke my chair," said Baby Bear who appeared behind Daddy Bear.

"Of course not. My name is Iris, not Goldilocks. Please come to the wedding. There will be music and dancing and food and everything."

"I will tell Mummy Bear. She will want time to get ready for a wedding. So off you go and see you later. Oh, and by the way, be careful of the Big Bad wolf. He likes to eat little girls and don't go down to the big pond."

Iris was beginning to think that there must be a reason why all the animals were asking about the BBW. If he is in this garden and if he does eat little girls, then I should be afraid and be more careful. She asked herself whether she should go to find the witch first or the Princess and the Frog.

She looked at the map and decided that as the little pond was nearer than the witch's house, she would go there first but she ran as fast as she could anyway. They were there, on either side of the pond. She overheard them talking.

"I am not a prince," the frog was saying.

"That is quite obvious, and what's more you look more like a toad than a frog. And for the hundredth time I do not want to kiss you."

Iris secretly agreed but didn't say anything. Instead, she said, "Why not come to the Owl and the Pussy Cat's wedding. I have come to remind you. There will be music and dancing and food. It is tonight because of the moonlight."

"Yes, yes we know. We go every year. Have you seen the BBW? You should be careful. He eats little girls," they both said.

Iris turned around and walked back up the path without checking the map. "Now where am I? I thought I knew this garden."

A cloud, a big dark cloud covered the moon and Iris could no longer see the map. "I seem to remember the big pond is this way so I will go in the opposite direction I don't want to meet the crocodile."

Iris felt lost and said to herself that this was all very silly and that she knew every inch of this garden, after all it was Nana's garden, but she didn't know that all these animals lived here too. She sat down on a log to think. It is very quiet thought Iris but just then she heard crying. 

"Who's crying, are you alright, are you in pain? Can I help? Aren't you coming to the wedding is that why you are crying?"

"Little girl, you should not be in this garden at night, and you are on your own too, aren't you? You know that a BBW lives here, and he eats little girls."

"Yes, yes, so everybody says but I haven't seen him. Anyway, why are you crying? "

"I haven't been invited to the wedding?" Iris heard the crying turn to sobs.

"OK, no need to cry I will take you. I can't see you. It is very dark?"

"That's alright, you sit tight, I will take you. Hold on now."

Just then the clouds cleared, and Iris looked up to see the moon and--

"Damn, damn, damn, it's that wicked witch, " said the crocodile.

"Iris, jump on my broomstick. Why are you sitting on the crocodile? " shouted Winnie as she landed next to the crocodile.

“What? A crocodile? No, no I am sitting on a log. Who is crying?”

“Have you never heard about crocodile tears?”

“Be quick. Hold tight,” said Winnie.” Iris jumped on the Broomstick and looked down to see a crocodile with big tears rolling down his face.

Winnie and Iris sailed up and up and glided past the full moon. She looked down and by its light saw the wedding taking place. They were all dancing. The Three Little Pigs, The Three Bears, The Three Billy Goats Gruff, The Frog and The Princess and even the Troll. She could hear the Owl singing and playing his guitar.

“Wait for me. Save me some mince and slices of quince. I want to eat from a runcible spooooooon.”

Iris woke up with a start, sat up, yawned and rubbed her eyes. “No, I haven't seen the BBW,” she said.

Nana drew back the curtains with a loud swish and the bright sunlight flooded the room. “What did you say? Good morning. Come along now, we have lots to do today. Grass cutting, weeding, flower picking and, and---"

"Do you mind if we don't go into the garden today,” said Iris rubbing her eyes.