Liz Young's Blog, page 10
January 20, 2022
LUCY'S BIRTHDAY
LUCY’S BIRTHDAY
The little girl next door was often home alone, and Mabel’s tentative offer of after-school tea and biscuits grew into friendship.
“I’ll be eight next week,” Lucy announced one day.
Mabel smiled. “What present would you like?”
Lucy grimaced. “Nothing – Mum would be cross.”
Mabel sympathised – the poorer you were, the more pride mattered.
On Lucy’s birthday Mabel baked a cake – her mother couldn’t object to that – and gave Lucy a small envelope.
“A credit card?” Lucy gasped.
“No – something much better,” said Mabel, “a library card. We can read books together.”
A gift for both of them.
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I was thrilled that my granddaughter asked for books last week for her 7th birthday - perhaps she'll read the books I wrote with my older grandchildren in mind! And my son's friend's library in Canada actually offers a birthday party service - an excellent way to draw children into reading.
Thanks to Ted Strutz for the photo prompt, and to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers on her blog. https://rochellewisoff.com/
January 12, 2022
CLOUDS
CLOUDS
Her mind had been clouded since his death, wondering if she had done enough to ease his fears. The peace she had once craved was overwhelming, the half-written books untouched, even reading was an effort.
Shaking herself out of her torpor, she drove to the coast. The waves washed the shore, as they had done since the only life on earth was amoebic. Early man had fished those waters, warships sailed, spacecraft splashed down, and the tides had risen and fallen regardless.
From behind the clouds a ray of sunlight hinted at a brighter day.
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Thanks to Bradley Harris's photograph, I've decided it's been far too long since I walked by the sea, and I only live a few miles away. As a teenager I found the ceaseless sound of waves on shingle soothing, so it's definitely time I tried its magic again!
January 6, 2022
PAINTING MEMORIES
PAINTING MEMORIES
Street noises surround him
but he hears only birdsong,
Tourists take photos
while he sees only mountains
In a crowded city
he paints from memory -
cherry blossom and bamboo
cranes on chrysanthemums.
Bicycle bells ring
car horns blare,
but he hears the rattle of bamboo
and his brush moves
in peaceful strokes
to music only he can hear
while he paints water and wind.
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A man so absorbed in his work that he could be alone - I wish I could shut the outside world off like that when I choose! When I lived in Tenerife I sat in cafes to write, as I knew enough Spanish to interact with people, but not enough for background chatter to intrude. Now I am back in England I am too easily distracted.
Thanks to Brenda Cox for the photograph that prompted this week's Friday Fictioneers' stories. To read others you can follow the link from https://rochellewisoff.com/
AND FINALLY - I wish you a very happy new year.
December 29, 2021
THE PARTY'S OVER
THE PARTY’S OVER
The pubs were too crowded, the nightclubs wanted a Covid certificate, so they bought booze and partied all weekend. There were some gate-crashers, but that’s the sign of a good party, right?
Three flat-mates surfaced next day to clear up, but when they moved the tree they discovered a body. They looked at each other aghast.
‘Who is it?’
‘We should call the cops.’
They looked at the powdery floor, imagining a forensic team crawling all over it. Suddenly sober, they bundled body and tree together and took them out of town.
Christmas would never be the same.
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Would they get away with it? You decide! Thanks to Dale Rogerson for the seasonal photo and to Rochelle for staying sober enough over the holiday to keep us going on Friday Fictioneers.
Meanwhile, if you haven't already read the short stories I blogged each day in the week leading up to Christmas, please take the time to scroll through and read them now.
And I wish you all a very happy New Year - let us hope 2022 sees us returning to much more freedom than the last two years have permitted.
December 25, 2021
CHRISTMAS DAY
STABLE
“We have a son! I will teach him to be a good carpenter.”
Mary raised her eyes briefly from adoring her baby. “Are you sure? I know you promised but . . .”
Joseph tucked his cloak around them both. “Hush, wife – I meant every word – now sleep.”
She lay back on the straw holding her son to her breast, and slept until Joseph’s gruff voice woke her. “Find another shelter – my wife’s just had a baby.”
“We know - angels told us to come – we’ve left the flock outside.”
The stable was suddenly crowded, and Mary moved her veil aside to reveal the child. The shepherds’ weathered faces worshipped him while his baby hands bestowed blessings.
“You’ve seen him,” Joseph said, “Now leave us in peace.”
“We all wish for peace,” they said and departed, leaving a lamb behind. Mother and baby lay back against its warm fleece and were comforted.
Later, more visitors came, rivalling the star-shine with their gifts, and as Joseph hid the treasures from thieves his last doubts vanished - Mary’s story of an angel was true.
That night Mary awoke weeping. “I had a dream,” she sobbed into Joseph’s arms.
Only half in jest, he said, “Not another one!”
“I dreamed he was sold for thirty pieces of silver.”
Joseph snorted. “Our son will be a simple carpenter, wife – why would anyone sell him? Now go back to sleep before any more angels come.”
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This is the last post in my Advent Week calendar, sent to wish any who read it a very happy Christmas and a New Year that is an improvement on the last two.
December 24, 2021
ANGEL WINGS
ANGEL WINGS
At the cry of a newborn the villagers rejoiced – a new life was always worth celebrating, but on Christmas Eve it was a double blessing. They clustered round as his father held him up. “What will you call him?” a woman asked.
“Jesús, naturally,” Josef answered.
An hour later a dog barked and was instantly silenced, but it had been tied up deliberately far from the village and had done its job before it died.
Josef woke his children with his hand over their mouths. “Run and hide in the caves,” he ordered and they slid silently away, Maria close behind them carrying her new baby.
The villagers cowered deep in the caves while rebels burned everything, rampaging through the forest, killing anything that moved with their machetes. Maria’s children clung to her skirts in silent terror, but Jesús felt the tension in her arms and whimpered.
The rebel leader stopped, looking all around, and the villagers watched in horror as Maria, with tears pouring down her face, held her hand over her baby’s mouth.
Long minutes later the lookout reported, “They have gone,” but the cave remained silent as the villagers gathered round Maria, and the baby who lay limp and lifeless in her arms.
Then the air moved as if wafted by angel wings, the tiny chest heaved, and Jesús looked up into Maria’s face, born a second time.
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Christmas Eve, and the penultimate little story in My Advent Week calendar. I'm off now to meet my daughter and granddaughter at church for the Crib Service - fully masked, lateral flow tests negative!
Please let me know if you've enjoyed my stories, and I wish you all a very happy Christmas.
December 23, 2021
MRS JENKINS’ LOVER“Mrs Jenkins refuses to go to bed!”The ...
MRS JENKINS’ LOVER
“Mrs Jenkins refuses to go to bed!”
The Care Home manager soothed Hyacinth. “I should have told you – she always sits up on Christmas Eve – let her be.”
After tucking a blanket round Mrs Jenkins’ slight body, Hyacinth shut the door.
Alone at last! Hyacinth was a kind soul, but Edna had feared she would never go. She sank into her store of cherished memories – of a youth spent roaming the moors, heedless of her father’s predictions of a ruined reputation. With gnarled fingers she twisted her wedding band. She’d had to settle down with a suitable man eventually, but she had always yearned for her lost freedom.
On Christmas Eve sixty years ago she had found her door locked, and from her window had seen her father going out with his shotgun. Each year since then she had been visited by her gypsy lover, his face remaining young while she aged. Often she had been tempted to leave with him, but the children had held her back.
The soft sound of jingling harness alerted her and she threw off the blanket, leaping to her feet like the girl she once was. He was here! This year she would take his hand and go with him.
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DAY FOUR of my Advent Week Calendar takes us into the dreams of an old lady, a touch of magic, and the world of old-style gypsies. My novels HELTER-SKELTER and CAROUSEL inhabit a similar world - two stories about a gypsy-born boy's growth to manhood in the 1920-30s, his service in WW2, and through to romance in his later years. They would be just the books to read over the holidays, and can be found on Amazon by following these links.
Helter-Skelter: Amazon.co.uk: Elizabeth Young: 9781717344755: Books
December 22, 2021
THE DINER
CHRISTMAS EVE AT THE DINER
Sally’s feet ached. Christmas Eve had been a long, hard slog.
Lorry drivers had merely grabbed a burger without leaving a tip, every family had brought over-excited, noisy children, and someone had thrown up in the toilets.
The moment the last customer left, Sally grabbed the keys to lock up – with luck she’d be home before midnight – but just then a couple stumbled out of the darkness.
“Don’t lock us out,” the man pleaded, “My wife’s in labour,” and as Sally held the door open for them, one brilliant star came to rest in the night sky over the diner.
...................................................................................................................There will a fair number of people driving to see family this Christmas - I hope they all reach their destinations unscathed, and find a warm welcome there.
Thanks, as ever, to Rochelle for the prompt and for chivvying us in the Friday Fictioneers community into writing at least once a week. Although, to be honest, my story is a rerun. I am posting a Christmas story each day this week as my Advent Week Calendar, so feel free to scroll back to read my other stories.
HAPPY CHRISTMAS to you all XX
December 21, 2021
DECEMBER 21st
IF IT HAPPENED NOW
“What’s up, babe? Your latte’s getting cold.”
“I’ve gone off coffee, Joe – get me an orange juice instead.”
Joe returned from the counter wearing a worried frown, “You’ve been moody all week and now you’ve gone off coffee – are you breaking up with me?”
Mary couldn’t meet his soft brown eyes. “Youmight want to dump me when I tell you – I’m having a baby.”
“I’m going to be a dad? That’s brilliant!”
“It’s not yours.”
The words dropped like a stone between them. Joe leaped up so violently that other customers stared. “Whose is it then? I thought you loved me.”
Mary shrugged helplessly. “I do love you, Joe, but I didn’t have a choice.”
“You mean someone forced you? I’ll bloody kill him!”
“It wasn’t like that." Mary looked up at Joe, willing him to believe her. "This angel turned up out of nowhere and told me God’s been watching me and decided I’m the right one to have His baby. The angel said this baby will save the world one day.”
“And you expect me to believe that?” Joe’s voice dripped scorn.
Mary shrank back in her seat, her hands protecting her belly, and a tear trickled down her cheek. “I’m having a hard time believing it myself, but I swear it’s the truth. I’m dreading telling Mum and Dad.”
Joe sat down slowly and wiped her tears away with his calloused carpenter’s thumbs. “I can’t deny it’s a hell of a shock, Mary,” he said gently. "It's the wildest story I've ever heard, but I believe you - somehow we’ll work it out.” He grinned suddenly. “I’ve always wanted to be a dad.”
And right there, in an ordinary coffee bar in an unremarkable town, Mary and Joseph were enveloped in a glow that the barista swore later resembled the wings of an angel.
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Day 2 of my Advent Week stories - I have often wondered how Mary's story would go down today!
The photograph is of a crib set I made in pottery classes decades ago, and some of the animals were my children's contributions - the second Baby Jesus was made by Daniel, who was only two at the time.
Just a reminder that my LIVING ROCK series is on Amazon - the set of four would make the perfect last-minute gift for anyone, teen to adult. A VOLCANIC RACE is the first one.
A VOLCANIC RACE: a LIVING ROCK book: Amazon.co.uk: YOUNG, LIZ: 9798679889521: Books
December 20, 2021
DECEMBER 20th
COFFEE, ONE SUGAR
He was huddled in the doorway with a dog sharing his sleeping-bag, his hair spiked with frost. Allie put her latte down beside his blue nose and hurried on, too embarrassed to linger.
The next day she put the coffee into the man’s hands, and when his icy fingers touched hers she blurted out, “How do you cope?”
He hugged his dog. “We keep each other warm.”
“What else can I bring you?”
“A warmer hat would be welcome.” He raised the coffee and surprised her with a broad grin. “And less sugar – it’s bad for the dog.”
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This is the first of my Christmas week offerings - a story I first wrote in 2017, and a reminder that some people would be grateful even for the shelter of a stable this Christmas.
