Anne Whitaker's Blog, page 27
July 23, 2014
Jupiter’s 12-year cycle: tracking the Great Benefic
Optimistic, expansive and meaning-seeking Jupiter is now in the sign of Leo, where it will remain until 11th August 2015. Excitement is already high; try googling ‘Jupiter’s shift into Leo’ and you’ll see what I mean. My impression from talking to people, and dipping into social media, is that we are all looking for a bit of light relief from what has been a pretty bad news year thus far.
So – what is this shift likely to mean for you and me ? And how does this 12- year cycle affect us all, whether we know astrology or not? Read on, and find out:
http://astrologyquestionsandanswers.com/2014/07/21/what-is-the-jupiter-cycle/
100 words copyright Anne Whitaker 2014
Licensed under Creative Commons – for conditions see Home Page
Filed under: 01 - New Posts: January 2014 onwards, Astrology Article Archive 1 – "Not the Astrology Column" Tagged: astrology, horoscope, Jupiter – the Great Benefic, Jupiter’s shift into Leo, The 12-year cycle of Jupiter
July 18, 2014
Places of Healing – returning to the Orkney Isles
The Orkney Isles
(http://mappery.com/Orkney-Islands-Map)
As some of you will have gathered from Facebook posts and pictures in June this year, Ian and I returned again recently to what has become one of our favourite places. I’ve been asked by a number of people to re-publish this post, to remind them of Orkney’s beguiling qualities. I’d also like new Followers of the blog to know about Orkney. So – here it is. Enjoy, and let me know what you think. Better still, go there! (No, I don’t have a retainer from the tourist board…)
History
“ Scratch Orkney, and it bleeds archaeology!”
This vivid phrase – from an energetic, silver-haired Orcadian tourist guide on an enchanting early evening visit to the tiny island of Eynhallow off the Orkney mainland many years ago – has always remained in my mind as summing up a defining feature of the Orkney Isles.
This scattering of 67 lush, fertile green islands lying off the north coast of Caithness in Scotland has a remarkable history whose early traces continue to surface. The world-famous Neolithic Ring of Brodgar, an impressive stone circle, dominates a narrow stretch of land between Stenness and Harray lochs, attracting many thousands of tourists every year.
We found on our recent visit that yet another archaeological dig was in progress – very close to the Ring. This time, it is so extensive that it may yield the most significant evidence of ancient occupation since the stone settlement of Scara Brae was uncovered by a severe storm many years ago.
About fifteen years ago, Ian and I took an evening drive down to the Ring. It was a clear night, the full moon reflecting burnished silver off Harray Loch. We were alone. We have often walked around the Ring: it is one of my personal pilgrimages on the many visits Ian and I have made to Orkney over the years. This time it felt different, a little eerie.
Suddenly we became aware of what I can only describe as an electrical charge, running clockwise round the ancient stones. We heard intermittent crackling, saw little flashes of sporadic light. The atmosphere raised the hairs on the back of our necks. Knowing we had had a definite experience, but not one which could be explained logically, we said nothing to anyone. But the sense of ancient power invoked in that experience remains with us.
Ring of Brodgar
(http://www.orkneyjar.com/history/brodgar/)
Sea
I love the sea, as does Ian. Growing up in the Outer Hebrides meant that water, either pouring from the heavens, lapping gently against the ever-visible shorelines, or battering the landscape in fierce winter storms, dominated my early years. Being by the sea never fails to soothe my spirit, remind me that we are always held in the Eternal, whether aware of it or not. The sea around Orkney entrances me, literally.
On this visit I walked out from Kirkwall harbour on another of my pilgrimages: the morning walk I used to take of about a mile round the line of coast as far as Craigiefield House, wonderful sea views all the way. The low land in Orkney means high, wide skyscapes whose textures, colours and shapes shift and change like a magician’s palette, reflecting always the moods and shifts of the sea. Today it is misty. I sit on a bench and gaze out.
Then, I would reflect on what my day’s writing might bring, as Ian’s busy working day unfolded through many contacts with Orcadians who had grown to trust his professional expertise over many years. Today, we are on holiday here, visiting old friends, familiar places. I just sit, with no plan, letting the sea’s magic enfold me.
Church
In Kirkwall, Orkney’s main town, St Magnus Cathedral – known as the ‘Light in the North’ – was founded in 1137 by the Viking, Earl Rognvald. It is a wonderful building, nowadays owned by the people of Orkney themselves, lovingly and proudly cared for – still very much an active Church. On early visits I used to marvel to myself that such an impressive building was going up here, at the same time as the great cathedral builders of Europe were embarking on a massive series of projects which would take centuries to complete.
Only later did I find out to my surprise and amazement that the European cathedral builders had actually visited these remote, small islands – to advise the Orcadian stonemasons.
On this visit there was a highlight – a new experience. We joined a tour which took us to the upper reaches of the cathedral, via some vertiginously narrow and twisty stairways opening out onto two levels as we gained height, finally gaining access to the very top of the cathedral and fantastic views over town, sea, and much of the Orcadian landscape. I was glad successfully to have challenged my vertigo!
Of many impressive details which the well-informed and enthusiastic guide offered, my personal highlight probably reveals more about me than I should be prepared to admit….on the first level, lying along the floorboards within the stout cathedral walls, was an unusual ladder. This was used at public executions which were very much a feature of life in mediaeval times and later. It is a double ladder, with thirteen rungs. Two people, the executioner and the condemned person ascended it. Only one came down. Chilling.
St Magnus Cathedral window
(photo: Anne Whitaker)
There is wonderful stained glass from different eras throughout the cathedral. I was fortunate enough to be allowed to take a photograph from on high of my personal favourite: a glorious jewel-coloured modern window depicting key scenes from the spiritual and temporal life of Orcadians down the ages.
I could have stood on bare boards, high up in St Magnus Cathedral, gazing over the stone parapet at this magnificent window for the rest of the afternoon, had that been possible. However, I have created an acceptable substitute. That glorious window you see here as a photograph is now my computer screen saver: I can admire my version of it, every day!
People
I had two motivations in going to Orkney for one week in February and July each year for nearly two decades. One was to act as a brake on Ian’s tendency to work all day and evening, as he attempted to cram a huge workload into a short visit. In this I was only partially successful….The other was to get away from my own busy people-focused career, giving my reclusive side time to retreat, be by the sea, and allow the writer in me five days of glorious indulgence.
Because of the latter, I was disinclined to be sociable when in Orkney. My ideal lunch was sitting in Trenabie’s cafe (now Bistro!) in Kirkwall, munching one of their excellent toasties with my nose in a book.
However, despite this I still made a few friends, all through Ian. It was heartwarming to receive the welcome we were given on this visit, with Ian being left in no doubt by his former clients and colleagues of the quality of his contribution and how much that had been missed when he left.
One friend we could not have left without seeing is the irrepressible, redoubtable Gifford Leslie, known to all as “Giffie”. Dear Giffie has never quite recovered from having me as one of his guests when we stayed in the characterful Kirkwall Hotel during his tenure as manager there.
Spurning the coffee on offer at breakfast, I would turn up with a tiny jar of my favourite quality instant, and ask for a pot of hot water, much to Giffie’s exasperation and my husband’s embarrassment. Then there was the incident when I managed somehow to splash ink from my fountain pen rather visibly onto the “very expensive!” wallpaper in the Kirkwall Hotel’s Writing Room. Giffie was not pleased, and did not hesitate to tell me so.
On this visit, we found him co-managing the newly refurbished, attractive West End Hotel with his usual style and panache. Needless to say, I was reminded over a pot of tea (on the house) of my former misdemeanors. Giffie and I concluded as we bade one another a fond farewell, that time had not improved either of us. Ian agreed!
We returned home to our city life, feeling rested and warmed in spirit by our trip, the first for several years. I do hope that this pictorial and verbal tribute conveys at least some of the flavour of the special nature of the Orkney Isles, one of my – and our – personal healing places. We will be back.
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1450 words copyright Anne Whitaker 2014
Licensed under Creative Commons – for conditions see Home Page
Filed under: 01 - New Posts: January 2014 onwards, Healing - the power of Nature (article archive) Tagged: Eynhallow, Orkney Isles, Outer Hebrides, Ring of Brodgar, Scara Brae, St Magnus Cathedral
July 13, 2014
Neptune calling! Some thoughts on how to manage a Neptune transit…
I had a very deep and powerful question appear on my Astrology: Questions and Answers blog from Allegra (not her real name ). The title of this post sums up its content. It’s aimed at astrologers, non-astrologers, readers interested in knowing more about astrology beyond the Sun Signs – and all spiritual seekers! I hope you find it useful.
Filed under: 01 - New Posts: January 2014 onwards, Astrology Article Archive 1 – "Not the Astrology Column" Tagged: Astrological Neptune, astrology, horoscope
July 10, 2014
Sick of politics and politicians? Read this poem!
I have got to the stage in life where I am so sick of politics and politicians that I only vote – I always vote – because I know that women fought and died for me to have that vote.
But it does seem these days that in ‘mature’ democracies such as we have in the UK and the USA, power, influence and money are increasingly concentrated in the hands of those who are not much in touch with the needs of our planet or the will of the people.
Sectarian polarisation seems to be growing worse, and not just in the turmoil and bloodshed of the Middle East: look at the stasis existing in the USA between Republicans and Democrats, and the despair which that impasse is generating amongst ‘ordinary’ voters. In Scotland, of course, we have an increasingly strident shouting match as the 18th September Independence Referendum on Scotland’s future – and that of the whole United Kingdom – draws near.
So – when I came across this wonderful poem by Wendel Berry in a recent post by my favourite blogger, Linda Leinen at The Task at Hand, it spoke to me, loud and clear. I hope it speaks to you, wherever you are:
The Mad Farmer, Flying the Flag of Rough Branch, Secedes from the Union
From the union of power and money,
From the union of power and secrecy,
From the union of government and science,
From the union of government and art,
From the union of science and money,
From the union of genius and war,
From the union of outer space and inner vacuity,
The Mad Farmer walks quietly away.
-
There is only one of him, but he goes.
He returns to the small country he calls home,
His own nation small enough to walk across.
He goes shadowy into the local woods,
And brightly into the local meadows and croplands.
He goes to the care of neighbors,
He goes into the care of neighbors.
He goes to the potluck supper, a dish
From each house for the hunger of every house.
He goes into the quiet of early mornings
Of days when he is not going anywhere.
-
Calling his neighbors together into the sanctity
Of their lives separate and together,
In the one life of the commonwealth and home,
In their own nation small enough for a story
Or song to travel across in an hour, he cries:
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Come all ye conservatives and liberals
Who want to conserve the good things and be free,
Come away from the merchants of big answers,
Whose hands are metalled with power;
From the union of anywhere and everywhere;
By the purchase of everything from everybody at the lowest price
And the sale of anything to anybody at the highest price;
From the union of work and debt, work and despair;
From the wage-slavery of the helplessly well-employed.
-
From the union of self-gratification and self-annihilation,
Secede into the care for one another
And for the good gifts of Heaven and Earth.
-
Come into the life of the body, the one body
Granted to you in all the history of time.
Come into the body’s economy, its daily work,
And its replenishment at mealtimes and at night.
Come into the body’s thanksgiving, when it knows
And acknowledges itself a living soul.
Come into the dance of the community, joined
In a circle, hand in hand, the dance of the eternal
Love of women and men for one another
And of neighbors and friends for one another.
-
Always disappearing, always returning,
Calling his neighbors to return, to think again
Of the care of flocks and herds, of gardens
And fields, of woodlots and forests and the uncut groves,
Calling them separately and together, calling and calling,
He goes forever toward the long restful evening
And the croak of the night heron over the river at dark.
~ Wendell Berry
(NOTE: I had to put in a small dash to indicate verse breaks, since my WordPress programme for reasons best known to itself, refused to let me create spaces between verses. Purists, please forgive me!)
700 words copyright Wendell Berry/Anne Whitaker 2014
Licensed under Creative Commons – for conditions see Home Page
Filed under: 01 - New Posts: January 2014 onwards, Poets - known and new Tagged: Linda Leinen, needs of our planet, politics and politicians, Scottish Independence Referendum, Sectarian polarisation, The Task at Hand, United Kingdom, Wendel Berry, will of the people
June 29, 2014
5 Things Your Mom Didn’t Tell You About Book Blogging
I’m really enjoying following Robert’s quirky, fun, informative blog, and found reading this post very useful – apart from anything else, it confirmed my own dark suspicions about writing book reviews!
Originally posted on 101 Books:
Sure, you’ve already got a great book blog. Your mom loves it. In fact, your book blog is so good that more people than your mom and brother read it.
That’s step one to blog success—more than just family members!
But how does your book blog stand out in the middle of all the thousands of book blogs on the intertubes?
Well, I don’t claim to be an expert or anything, but I have been blogging about books for nearly 4 years, and here’s what’s worked for me. These, of course, are in addition to these blogging tips I gave a few years ago. All those tips still hold true as well.
So here are a few of my thoughts that, just maybe, your mom didn’t tell you:
View original 809 more words
Filed under: 01 - New Posts: January 2014 onwards, Uncategorized, Writers and Writing Tagged: 101 Books, Book Blogging, book reviews
June 20, 2014
Solstice Celebration with Rabindranath Tagore
Tonight I sit gazing out of my third floor window. It is 10.30 pm but midsummer light still glows, painting striped bands across a pale blue wispy sky. Birds are singing. The river runs through the park below our house; it sounds as mellow as I feel, having had a precious, relaxed day: morning coffee and deep talk with a friend; lunchtime theatre with my husband, then lunch in the local Botanic Gardens, Glasgow, UK, watching the world go by, all of us enjoying a glorious summer’s day. Home, then a long rest with tea and a brilliant book. After that, supper with my brother and nephews, always zany fun. Even the tadpoles in my brother’s untidy back garden look mellow.
I feel blessed as the solstice approaches.
I wanted to share some of this mellowness with my faithful blog followers and readers. Happily, I soon found this wonderful image and quote from Rabindranath Tagore, a favourite poet of mine.
Summer Solstice
I love the enigmatic, poignant, mysterious quality of this quote. Hope you do too!
Rabindranath Tagore
200 words copyright Anne Whitaker 2014
Licensed under Creative Commons – for conditions see Home Page
Filed under: 01 - New Posts: January 2014 onwards, Favourite Quotes (archive) Tagged: Botanic Gardens Glasgow UK, Rabindranath Tagore, Stonehenge, Summer Solstice 
June 9, 2014
Neptune turns retrograde: time to turn to the inner sea…
The mystical planet Neptune turned retrograde at 7.5 degrees of its own sign of Pisces today, 9th June at 14.00 GMT, not turning direct until mid-November. This is a subtle, deep time for all inner, reflective, imaginative, spiritual work. Take up meditation, writing poetry, listening to music: pay more attention than you normally would, to the hidden currents of your inner world, and see what comes to you as the months pass.
In the meantime, here is beautiful evening image of the sea, Neptune’s realm…
Honouring Neptune
100 words copyright Anne Whitaker 2014
Licensed under Creative Commons – for conditions see Home Page
Filed under: 01 - New Posts: January 2014 onwards, Astrology Article Archive 1 – "Not the Astrology Column" Tagged: astrology, meditation, Neptune god of the sea, Neptune retrograde, Neptune's realm, Poetry, spiritual life
May 26, 2014
Favourite Quote: …”beyond all image and words”
Feeling very meditative tonight, as I sit three floors up, gazing out at the sun setting over the Kilpatrick Hills on a clear night here in Glasgow (unusual event….!). Thought I’d share a favourite quote, which every time I read it walks me gently into Mystery.
Have a peaceful night, as the month’s energy winds down and we approach the New Moon in Gemini.
New Moon Crescent
“….in this journey of the spirit, I and others still walk that steep uphill road….And all our religious edifices, which serve first as staffs to help us on our way, in the end become crutches which we must discard….And the doctrines which we espouse and which we hold dear are only smooth shining stones which we pick up on the road and place in our baggage. With each new dogma and doctrine, the baggage grows heavier, until we discard these pebbles, one by one, leaving them on the roadside for others to find and carry a little further. And in the end we have need of neither doctrine nor creed, nor to name that which we worship – for it is beyond all image and words….”
‘Women in Search of the Sacred ‘ by Anne Bancroft (Penguin Arkana 1996) pp 120-121
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200 words copyright Anne Whitaker/Anne Bancroft 2014
Licensed under Creative Commons – for conditions see Home Page
Filed under: 01 - New Posts: January 2014 onwards, Uncategorized Tagged: Anne Bancroft, Kilpatrick Hills, New Moon Crescent, New Moon in Gemini, Women in Search of the Sacred
May 23, 2014
What is Reality? Review: ‘Into the Land of Snows’ by Ellis Nelson
Ellis Nelson clearly states the credo informing her writing, right from the start of this well-written and illuminating book, with an opening quote from Ayradeva:
‘Entertaining just a doubt
Tears to tatters worldly existence’
Into the Land of Snows operates at two levels. On one, it is the pacy ‘coming of age’ tale of Blake, a young American in his mid-teens, unhappy and confused following his parents’ recent divorce for which at the start of the book he blames his father, Dr McCormack. The latter is a medic on an expedition to climb Mount Everest, the world’s highest mountain, known by the Sherpa people of the region as Chomolungma, Goddess of the World.
Blake’s mother, worried on finding a marihuana joint in his pocket, sends him off to join his father at Everest’s base camp in a bid to get him away from bad influences at home and also to enable some quality time between father and son. Following a serious mountain accident, however, Dr McCornack sends Blake away for safety reasons in the care of Ang Thondup, a trusted, experienced Sherpa mountain guide.
The book charts Blake’s process of maturation as a result of intense exposure to Tibetan Buddhist culture whose beliefs and values – centring round what reality may be – are bewilderingly and challengingly different from those of the highly materialist West in which Blake has been growing up. The hardships and adventures he and Ang encounter on their journey, an important part of which is Blake’s solo venture to effect Ang’s successful rescue, are also vividly portrayed.
Central to the whole plot is an old camera gifted to Blake by Dawa, a young Sherpa, on which Blake is excited to find not only what seems to be a photograph featuring George Mallory, the famous missing explorer from the 1920s whose frozen corpse was found not long ago on Everest, but also what could be the world’s first authentic photo of a Yeti, the fabled Abominable Snowman of many tales and legends.
Blake’s initial excitement and desire to share this discovery on his return home to the USA is challenged in a most interesting way by a wise lama he encounters to whom Ang, a former monk, decides to give the camera – much to Blake’s initial anger and feelings of betrayal.
The outcome of this ‘coming of age’ tale which I will leave for the reader to discover, is satisfyingly positive.
At another level, however, I detect a deeper purpose on the part of Ellis Nelson than that of writing an interesting, absorbing and unusual adventure story initially aimed at a young readership.
The clue is in the quotation which heads up the whole book and this post. Through immersing the reader in a very different way of life to that of our Western culture increasingly dominated by a materialist, reductionist ethos, Ellis Nelson takes us on a journey through various well-documented aspects of Buddhist, and in particular Tibetan Buddhist, culture and religion.
We hear about the Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold Path, basic tenets of Buddhist belief and practice. We find out about the Bardo states which occur after death, how they are negotiated, and why it is thus the case that bodies must be left undisturbed for three days after people die.
We encounter runners so light that their bodies have to be weighted down with chains; monks who dip themselves in freezing rivers, warming their bodies and drying their clothes through mind power; sky burial in which corpses are chopped up and fed to the high plains vultures. We encounter telepathic communication from the wise lama, temporary custodian of Blake’s camera, in order to reassure both Blake and Ang whilst Blake is effecting the latter’s rescue.
The piece de resistance, however, occurs in a remote mountain cave inhabited by a solitary monk.Whilst finding a rope with which to rescue Ang who is trapped on a ledge fifty feet below the damaged path they are travelling, Blake witnesses something startling, scary and utterly challenging to our conventional notions of the boundary between illusion and reality.
The chanting and meditating monk, his back to Blake, conjures out of a coil of smoke the very Yeti pictured on Blake’s photograph – complete with its stink, its piercing scream of fear and its rushing out of the cave when Blake touches it. He discovers that it is indeed ‘real’….
I enjoyed reading Into the Land of Snows very much. Having already over a number of years read extensively about Buddhist religion and practices, as well as being an intermittent meditator myself, none of the material Ellis presents here is new to me although I find reflecting on it compelling all over again.
I think that any open-minded reader encountering this book would be drawn to read more searchingly and more deeply from this able introduction. Ellis Nelson in Into the Land of Snows hasn’t just been telling a vivid story.
She has been challenging us to take a long, hard look at what we think ‘reality’ actually is….
Ellis Nelson
Fiction Writer:
Ellis Nelson has served as an Air Force officer, government contractor, and teacher. She has had an interest in Buddhism since childhood. Currently, she lives in Colorado Springs, CO with her husband. Email contact: himalayaspencerellis(at)yahoo.com. You may also friend Ellis Nelson on FACEBOOK or follow on TWITTER.
Her first book was published in Feb. 2012.
Mystical life is the centre of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write. WB Yeats
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900 words copyright Anne Whitaker/Ellis Nelson 2014
Licensed under Creative Commons – for conditions see Home Page
Filed under: 01 - New Posts: January 2014 onwards, Book Reviews 2014 Tagged: 'Into the Land of Snows', Ayradeva quotation, Bardo states, Chomolungma, Eightfold Path, Ellis Nelson, Four Noble Truths, George Mallory, Tibetan Buddhist culture
May 19, 2014
“My hero the villain” : a dark childhood tale
‘Lord of the Flies’ by William Golding
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Archie’s mother was out. The radio was on, blaring out Elvis Presley’s “Heartbreak Hotel”, his latest hit. I hate it. Archie says it’s because I’m too young to know heartbreak; he is twelve, but I’m only nine, and a girl. I was suggesting digging to Australia during our holidays. He was sitting with his feet up on the kitchen table, cutting lumps off a slab of butter, rolling each lump in sugar, tossing it in the air and trying to catch it in his mouth. Swinging his feet down, he nodded.
“Yeah, that’s a great idea.” He made for the door. “Come on! We’d better pick a good site before it gets dark.” It was two o’clock in the afternoon. I followed him, gratefully. Out the kitchen door we hurried, down the concrete path, not even stopping to hurdle the dustbins. We jumped over the wire netting fence separating the vegetable patch from the jungle of weeds and willows where his dad, a budgie breeder, laid dead birds to rest.
What a good time we’d had in the budgies’ graveyard last summer holidays! Unfortunately, my father saw us shooting arrows at dead budgies hanging from the clothesline. Fathers have a habit of putting a stop to fun. We were banned from the bottom of the garden for the rest of the summer. I still don’t see what all the fuss was about….they couldn’t FEEL anything….
“Hey Deirdre!” Archie had vanished into the weeds. “How about here?” I followed his voice, picking my way through the nettles. He was sitting on a sheet of rusty corrugated iron, pulling the wings off a butterfly.
“This is perfect,” he said, throwing bits of butterfly over his shoulder for luck. “Sit down here.” I sat down, carefully. “Now look at the house.”
“I can’t see the house from here, Archie.”
“Exactly!” He grinned at me. “You’re slow on the uptake! If you can’t see them……”
“They can’t see us!” I was delighted. “When will we start?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Archie said. “I know a place where I can get a couple of spades.”
“I haven’t seen any spades, Archie.”
“Huh…. girls never notice anything.” Hurt, I said nothing.
“OK, I’ll tell you. But keep it a secret?” I nodded. “See that old air raid shelter, across the cornfield ?”
“Yes”.
“The spades are hidden inside, away in a corner among some nettles. I’ll sneak them up here later on today.”
“How did you find them? ”
He winked, rubbing what was left of the butterfly into powder between his palms. “I’m smart,” he said. “Hadn’t you noticed?”
2.
Digging that hole was hard work. We had two bottles of lemonade from our larder, and a packet of biscuits stolen by Archie from the shop across the road.
“My geography teacher said that if you started digging from Scotland you’d get to Australia if you kept going long enough” I said to Archie, looking at the growing pile of earth. “D’you think that’s true?”
“Course it is” he replied, taking a long swallow of lemonade. “If David Livingstone could do it, why can’t we?”
“But ….” I said puzzled. “But he DIDN’T ….”
“Oh shut up!” Archie said impatiently. “Let’s get on with it.” We worked all day, stopping only to go home for our dinner.
“Where on earth have you been?” asked my mother. “You’re filthy!”
“Oh–nowhere. Just out playing.”
“I wish you’d be more like a girl,” she sighed. “You wouldn’t get so dirty.”
“Can I have some more mince, please?” I asked. I had eaten the two hills, the roads and there was no gravy left for the river. She gave me some. My mother would like it if I wore a skirt and a ribbon in my hair. But I don’t like girls. They’re boring.
3.
“What are we going to do with these worms, Archie?” We were digging up the longest, fattest worms I had ever seen.
“Seems a pity to waste them, doesn’t it?” he said, scratching his head and thinking very hard.
“I know! Just you wait here.” He went off to the shed and came back with a hammer and some nails. “Right, pick up a few and bring them over here.” He walked towards the willow trees. I had never picked up a worm in my life. Closing my eyes and trying to think of something else, I collected about ten of them. They were slimy and clammy and they squirmed in my hand.
“We’ll have a laugh here,” said Archie. “Hand me one at a time.” I watched him as he nailed them to the trees. Wriggling and jumping, they oozed slime and worm blood. Archie grinned at me. “They don’t take long to die.” Feeling sick and dizzy, I forced myself to watch. At last they just hung there, limp.
“That’s my good deed for the day,” Archie said. I looked at him, trying not to show my feelings. “Well” he said. “The birds. I’ve given them their dinner.” I couldn’t say a word. Archie picked up his spade. “Come on, Deirdre. We’ve a lot of digging to do.”
4.
It was Saturday morning. I was lying in bed eating a bacon sandwich, and drinking the tea my mother had brought me. I was thinking about the hole; it was getting deep. What would we do about the water?
“Deirdre!” Oh blast ….she would be wanting me to go into town.We’d be held up with the digging. “Deirdre! Come and see your uncle Angus – he’ll be off in a minute.” That was different. I liked my uncle Angus a lot. He always looked as if he was just about to have an adventure. I didn’t know what his job was, but I had overheard him talking to my father. It was something to do with nets and seals and the police. Jumping out of bed, I pulled on my jeans and a jersey, and ran downstairs.
There he was, leaning against the kitchen sink, rolling a cigarette. My mother glared at me. “You scruffy little tinker! Why haven’t you brushed your hair?”
“Oh, Anna, leave the girl alone!” said uncle Angus, lighting his cigarette and winking at me. “She’s a free spirit.” He grinned. “Am I right, miss?”
“Of course,” said I, not looking at my mother. It was worth the row later. I wanted him to like me.
“Come here!” he said. “Shut your eyes and hold out your hands.” I obeyed him. “Right! Open your eyes.”
I could hardly believe what I saw. Four half crowns! Ten whole shillings! It wasn’t even
Xmas or my birthday. I stared at him, not knowing what to say.
“Angus!” My mother sounded shocked. “She gets one shilling a week. That’s quite enough for a child her age.”
“Rubbish, woman” replied uncle Angus. “We all deserve a wee treat once in a while.” He turned to me. “Right–no banks, no savings, nothing sensible. Go straight out and spend the lot today on whatever you fancy. O.K.?”
“O.K.” I didn’t say anything else, just winked at him. He winked back. My mother glared at me as I made for the door.
“Be back here in time for your dinner!” she called. I stopped .
“What’s for dinner, then?” Grinning, uncle Angus pointed to the draining board.There lay two huge silvery salmon.
“Away you go” he said. “See you the next time.”
5.
Out of sight of our house, I sat on a low wall. I needed to think.
Archie would be working on the hole. He would be so angry if I said I was going down town. He thought I was less stupid than most girls. I didn’t want to make him mad. But I loved having all this money. If I didn’t spend it today it might fall down a drain.
I looked at the four half crowns. One was very new and glinted in the sun. Archie could have a share! I could give him a shilling…. or even one and six. But I knew Archie. He wouldn’t be happy. I put two half crowns on the wall, then the other two, whilst making up my mind. Half shares each! That would please him, wouldn’t it?
Archie was busy. He straightened up when he heard me coming. “Where have you been, you lazy little runt?” He was really mad. Just wait till I told him!
“I’m going down town this morning, Archie,” I said. “Are you coming with me?”
“Down town? With all this work to do? Clear off. Go yourself.” He turned his back and carried on digging.
“Look what I’ve got, Archie,” I said, taking the half crowns out of my pocket. “I got a present today.”
“Very nice, I’m sure,” he said in a nasty voice. “Some of us aren’t so lucky. Away and spend it, then.”
“You can have a share.”
He turned round, very quickly. “How much?”
“Half.” He was out of that hole like a shot!
“Deirdre, you’re a real pal,” he said, giving me a big smile. “You’re the best pal I ever had.” He wiped his hands on his jeans and grabbed my arm. “Come on, let’s go. Will we walk or take a bus?”
I felt really happy. “Let’s walk,” I replied. “It’s such a lovely day.”
6.
What a time we had! We got a big ice cream each from Cabrelli’s. In Woolies, we bought a matchbox car each, and new pencils with rubbers on the end. We bought marbles and plasticine. Archie bought a water pistol; I bought a lead cowboy whose hat and gun clipped on and off. Archie called me a swot when I got a bottle of ink for my new fountain pen. We were thrown out when he frightened one of the assistants with his new plastic jumping frog; but the money was mostly gone, so it didn’t matter.
We stopped at the corner sweet shop to spend our last few pennies on sherbet fountains and lucky potatoes, eating them on the way home. I should have got a Five Boys, I thought; my favourite chocolate, you could bite the Boys’ faces off one by one, leaving the smiling one to last. But I had no money left.
Fry’s Five Boys chocolate – once the most famous confectionery bar in the world
As we walked, we tried to decide what to do about the water coming in the hole.
“It’s getting serious,” Archie said. “I keep getting wet feet, and I’m running out of stories to tell my mother.”
“Perhaps we could use a tin can as a bailer, like my father does in his boat?”
“Trouble with that,” Archie replied, “is that the water would still come in, and we’d spend half the time bailing it out.”
“True enough.”
We walked quietly for a bit, thinking. A short way from his house, Archie brought a bar of Five Boys out of his pocket. Removing the wrapper, he began to bite the Boys off one by one.
“Where did you get that?” I asked. “I thought we’d spent all the money.”
“In Woolies,” he replied. “When you were getting your ink.” There were only two Boys left.
“Can I have one?” I asked. “The smiling Boy at the end?”
“No. You can’t. I bought it with my money, not yours.” I watched him slowly biting into the smiling Boy, chewing it and swallowing it. He licked his lips. “MMM. That was nice.”
Suddenly I felt sick. “Must get home for my dinner” I mumbled, not looking at him. As we reached his gate I started to walk really fast.
“Cheerio, then,” he said. “See you this afternoon.” I didn’t answer.
7.
That night I dreamed about Archie. He was in the hole, digging.The water began to rise. It rose very quickly.The hole was too deep for him to get out. He started screaming, and calling to me for help. He couldn’t swim. I did nothing and said nothing; just sat and watched until the surface of the water was calm.
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2200 words copyright Anne Whitaker 2014
Licensed under Creative Commons – for conditions see Home Page
Filed under: 01 - New Posts: January 2014 onwards, Short Stories: on Growing Up Tagged: "Lord of the Flies", Elvis Presley, Five Boys, half crowns, Heartbreak Hotel, loss of innocence, poachers
