K. Morris's Blog, page 816

Book Review: Eugenics And Other Evils By G K Chesterton

I recently read Eugenics And Other Evils by G K Chesterton, http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B0082XCCNK?ie=UTF8&ref_=oce_digital_UK. Chesterton wrote at a time when eugenics was gaining ground. Politicians ranging from Will Crooks on the left (Crooks was a member of the British Labour Party) and Winston Churchill (at one time a Liberal but later a Conservative) advocated eugenic measures while intellectuals such as the Webbs joined in championing such ideas.

In essence Chesterton argues that old-style capitalists/individualists such as Cobden and Bright had believed that the capitalist system would in time uplift the condition of the poor through increased prosperity. As time went on it became apparent that the condition of the mass of the population was not improving. The wealthy members of society became alarmed by what they saw as the deteriation in the quality of the population and the stubborn problem of pauperism so became receptive to the arguments of the advocates of eugenics. Likewise many on the left embraced eugenic measures out of a belief that social planning of which eugenics should form an integral part could improve the condition of the working classes.

While Chesterton rejected capitalism as it existed at the time of writing he was no fan of socialism either. He saw both systems as seeking to control people. In his view capitalism denyed the poor property by paying them insufficient wages thereby preventing the accumulation of property. Socialism on the other hand saw property as the cause of social evils and actively saught to limit or prevent it’s accumulation. Chesterton advocates a middle course in which property is widely distributed thereby enhancing the independence of the population and uplifting the condition of the poor. Widely distributed property rather than eugenic measures are, in Chesterton’s view the answer to the widespread pauperism which he condemns in Eugenics and other Evils.

So what where the eugenic measures which Chesterton attacks?

In 1912 the British Parliament passed a bill allowing for the separation of “the feeble minded” from the rest of the population. The term feeble minded was not well defined and led to the confinement in institutions of everyone from the genuinely mentally ill to those with minor learning difficulties and unmarried mothers. Pauperism was seen by many eugenicists as a disease the cure for which was to prevent so far as was possible the breeding of those afflicted by it.

In the UK there was no mass sterilisation programme despite it’s advocacy by many eugenicists. However in the United States organisations such as the Eugenics Records Office under the leadership of Charles Davenport and Harry Laughlin played a leading role in persuading American states to introduce sterilisation programmes under which those with various forms of disabilities and unmarried mothers (among others) where sterilised. Nazi eugenicists modelled the German eugenics law on the law drawn up by Laughlin although in Germany, unlike America sterilisation lead on to mass killing of disabled people under the Action T4 Programme.

After World War II eugenics fell out of fashion as a consequence of the atrocities committed under the Nazis but also due to advances in science which showed flaws in eugenics (E.G. few now believe that the poor are poor due to genetic defects).

Chesterton wrote Eugenics and other Evils in 1922. Given the abuses committed in the name of eugenics his book was remarkably prescient.

Russian Roulette Part 1

As a boy of 9 or 10 he had found the gun. It lay hidden in his father’s wardrobe, underneath a pile of old jumpers wrapped in a blue bath sheet. The boy had replaced everything as he found it and returned sheepishly to his bedroom. He shouldn’t have been in his father’s wardrobe let alone in his room. If dad found out that he had been there a beating would be the result. John shook with terror as he imagined his father removing his belt. He new only to well the swishing sound the belt made as it flew through the air. Swish followed by excruiciating pain as the buckle bit into flesh. Ever since he had returned from military service in Iraq dad had changed. The gentle giant much loved by John and his sister Anna was transformed into a brooding ogre. The slightest misdemeanour was likely to send him into an uncontrollable rage. After the beatings his father would hold his children close and mumble incoherent apologies as tears ran down his face. It proved all too much for the children’s mother. One day while John and Anna where at school and her husband was drinking with former members of his platoon Amie James took an overdose. It was John who had found her on his return from school. She lay on the sofa her blonde hair streaming over the cushion on which she rested.

“Mum” there was no answer.

“Mum” still there was no response.

His mum looked like a ghoul out of one of those horror movies which his parents had forbidden him to watch but which nevertheless the boy had seen while visiting his friend Mark who’s mum and dad  where more relaxed about such matters. Her face was the colour of chalk and a stream of spittle had run down Amie’s face.

“Mum” he said again reaching out his hand to touch her face. It was icey cold.

Feeling as though he was in a nightmare from which he would soon awake John had called for an ambulance. He recollected making the telephone call but everything following on from that was a blank until he woke up to find himself cradled in his father’s strong arms. Very gently mr James had broken the news to John and Anna of their mum’s death. Thinking back it was the last time that John could recollect his father as having shown any genuine tenderness or regret.

John couldn’t get the gun out of his head. He longed to take a closer look at the weapon, to aim and fire the gun as the cowboys did in the westerns which he so loved to watch. Desire to possess the prize contended within the boy with the fear of the consequences if his father discovered the loss of the gun. He would only borrow it for a few minutes the next time his father went out.

“I won’t even fire it. I’ll just hold it and imagine that I am a cop or a cowboy. Dad will never find out that I borrowed the gun” John reassured himself.

One evening, a week or so following the discovery of the weapon Mr James went out for the evening to drink with friends from the platoon. He new that he shouldn’t leave young children alone in the house but he felt that his head would explode if he didn’t get out for the evening.

“Kids grow up quicker these days. John is old enough to look after Anna” he told himself.

“I’m going out for the evening. I’ve got my keys so don’t answer the door to anyone or you’ll wish that you had never been born! Don’t answer the phone either. Do you understand?”

“Yes dad” they had both replied.

For at least 10 minutes following the slamming of the front door John sat in the living room his ears straining to detect the sound of returning footsteps. Mr James had become very forgetful as a consequence of the head wound which he had sustained while serving in Iraq and was likely to return for his wallet or some other item which he had forgotten. However after the elapse of 10 minutes John felt reasonably certain that his father would not return for the next few hours. He must, for once have remembered to take his money and would now be drinking in the local pub with his former comrades.

John gingerly ascended the stairs. Glancing round the door of his sister’s room he saw Anna engrossed on her laptop. She was, almost certainly chatting with friends on Facebook John thought. Well all the better for him as Anna was unlikely to disturb his examination of the gun.

Slowly John opened the door to his father’s bedroom. As he entered a movement caught his eye. John’s heart jumped into his mouth. He stood stock still for what seemed an age. He could feel the sweat running down his neck and soaking his t-shirt. The sound of breathing reached his ears.

“Hello” he whispered.

Thump, Thump came the response. John felt relief flood through him It was Jet dad’s black Labrador which had somehow got into the room and was now reclining contentedly on Mr James’s bed.

“Get down Jet” he said. Reluctantly the dog jumped off the bed and with a click of claws on the uncarpeted floor he was gone.

John opened the wardrobe door. What if the gun had gone or had been a figment of his fevered imagination? All the adrenaline would have been in vain. Tentatively he reached out his hands and lifted the jumpers. It was still there. At any rate the blue bath sheet remained where he had last seen it. With trembling hands John opened the towel. The pistol stirred back at him.

Sitting on his father’s bed John took a closer look at the weapon. The gun had a black butt and a silver barrel. The metal felt cold against his skin. John shivered. Had his dad killed Iraqi insurgents with the weapon? How many people had died?

Inexpertly John fiddled with the magazine. After a minute or so it opened. The gun was empty. John delved into the depths of the bath sheet. His hands closed around several circular pieces of metal. With a thrill of excitement he withdrew the bullets. Such tiny pieces of metal but with the capability to snuff out a life. John’s excitement increased. What if he inserted a bullet into the magazine? He wouldn’t fire the weapon (that had only been a silly day dream) but he could at least see what it was like to aim a pistol.

John wiped his sweating palms on his handkerchief. Holding the barrel away from him and with shaking hands he inserted one of the bullets. It took several attempts but, eventually the bullet clicked into place. John felt a surge of power rush through him as he pointed the gun towards the door

“Come in here and I’ll blow your brains out” he said.

Of course he would do no such thing but the thought of the power which he could release by a mere compression of his finger thrilled John beyond anything he had ever experienced before.

Looking around the room his eyes fell on a picture of his mother and father on their wedding day. His mother looked so beautiful and proud standing there her arm linked through that of her husband. It brought a lump to his throat

“Fucking dad you killed my mum. Arsehole you killed my mum” he sobbed burying his head in the pillow the gun quite forgotten left lying on the bedside cabinet. Gradually his sobbing ceased. He tried to remember happier times. He remembered sitting on his mum’s knee as she related stories of her ancestors. Amie’s great great grandparents had fled Russia at the time of the Bolshevik revolution in 1917. They where liberal aristocrats with no love for the Tsarist autocracy, however to the newly installed Communist government anyone of noble birth was suspect and discretion being the better part of valour Amie’s ancestors had fled to Britain leaving all their possessions in Russia.

John and Anna had listened with rapt attention as their mother told them tales of her Russian ancestors. John recollected one story in particular.

“Darlings you should never play with guns. One of my ancestors, Count Gorky lived a wild life. He used to get horribly drunk with his friends. He loved excitement. One evening when he was very drunk and all his friends had deserted him the count feeling bored took out his revolver. He placed only one bullet in the chamber, spun the barrel and placing the gun to his head fired. Nothing happened. The chamber had room for 8 bullets and when he spun the magazine it ceased revolving on an empty chamber so, when Count Gorky pulled the Trigger he avoided death by pure good luck. Well children (she continued holding them close) Count Gorky continued to play Russian Roulette for the remainder of the evening and, eventually the inevitable happened – the Count pulled the trigger on the loaded chamber and put a bullet in his brain. So John/Anna promise mummy that you will never play with a loaded gun, they aren’t toys”.

At the time neither John or his sister had imagined that they would ever have the opportunity to do any such thing and being frightened by the story they had promised faithfully never to play with weapons.

John reached for the gun. What where the chances of the gun going off? As with Count Gorky’s pistol the weapon had 8 chambers only one of which was loaded. John felt sick with excitement.

“I’ll be OK. I’ll only spin the magazine once and pull the trigger. I’ll be lucky, wow what a thrill it will be”.

John spun the magazine and placing the gun against his head began to ease down on the trigger.

The door flew open.

“I forgot my wallet”

Mr James trailed off stirring at his son in horror. Very gently he said

“Son put down that gun right now”.

John let the weapon fall to the floor.

“Christ you where bloody lucky that didn’t go off. Thank god I didn’t load it” his father said.

John swallowed hard.

“There is one bullet in it” he muttered hiding his face in his hands.

Mr James’s face took on the colour of chalk.

“You stupid, stupid boy” he said “You should never, ever mess with guns.”

John shrank back. He knew that he was about to receive the beating of his life. Instead Mr James caught his son tightly in his arms.

“I love you son. You could have been killed. Please never ever let me catch you playing with guns again or I’ll beat the living day lights out of you”.

 

End of Part 1

The Media Is The Message

Musak fills the vast void with soulless sound, like a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. The seductive blandishments of advertisers like sweet poison fill our heads. To purchase is to exist. Consume, only consume be part of the great consumer boom.

Endless soaps, beautiful people flickering like ghosts across the wide screen. With a flick of a switch the mirage vanishes leaving us bereft. Never mind there is so much choice, no need to switch off the TV, we can float forever in a world of entertainment and a myriad shopping channels. The nice lady, the one with the barbey doll looks and her head filled with straw tells us to keep tuned lest we miss something exciting.

No time to think. Thank god for 24 hour entertainment for it kills the pain, stifles the nagging doubts that asail even the stupidest ass on occasions. But, when the lights go out what do you do with the thoughts which crowd unbidden into your head?

Book Review: The Poems And Prose Of Ernest Dowson With A Memoir By Arthur Symons

I can not quite recollect when I first came across the poet Ernest Christopher Dowson. Perhaps it was while listening to one of the many recorded anthologies of verse which have delighted me over the years. Possibly I read his “They are not long the weeping and the laughter” while browsing through the Oxford Book of English Verse. Be that as it may, I was delighted to come across The Poems And Prose Of Ernest Dowson With A Memoir By Arthur Symons as a free download in the Amazon Kindle store, http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B000JQUZY6?ie=UTF8&ref_=oce_digital_UK.

Dowson was born in 1867 and died in 1900 at the tragically young age of 30. During his short life he produced some of the most moving poetry in the English language including his often quoted “They are not Long”

“They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,

Love and desire and hate;

I think they have no portion in us after

We pass the gate.

 

They are not long, the days of wine and roses,

Out of a misty dream

Our path emerges for a while, then closes

Within a dream.”

Indeed Dowson’s life was not long which serves to add poignancy to this beautiful poem. Whoever said that poetry has to be complex in order to be meaningful was wrong. As with “They are not long” verse can be a mere few lines and yet stir the emotions in a manner not achieved by more lengthy poems.

The brevity of existence and love is a constant theme in Dowson’s work. Take, for example his poem, April Love which touchingly describes the fleetingness of an affair

“We have walked in Love’s land a little way,

We have learnt his lesson a little while,

And shall we not part at the end of day,

With a sigh, a smile?

A little while in the shine of the sun,

We were twined together, joined lips, forgot

How the shadows fall when the day is done,

And when Love is not.

We have made no vows–there will none be broke,

Our love was free as the wind on the hill,

There was no word said we need wish unspoke,

We have wrought no ill.

So shall we not part at the end of day,

Who have loved and lingered a little while,

Join lips for the last time, go our way,

With a sigh, a smile?”.

Prior to reading “The Poems and Prose” I was not aware that in addition to his poetry Dowson had produced a number of short stories and one play. As with his poems the stories and play describe unattainable love or, in several of the stories the inability of men to take the plunge and express their love to their beloved.

In the play a man falls asleep in a beautiful garden to be awoken by a moon goddess. They indulge in romantic play for the few hours of night and at the end of their sport the lady leaves her mortal lover behind. Ever after he remains enthral to his moon goddess and is unable to find happiness with a mortal woman.

I could list the delights of this anthology until the cows come home, however I will cease my scribbling here and leave you to explore Dowson’s work for yourselves.

The Tumult and The Shouting Dies

Yesterday morning as I stood patiently in line waiting to enter the underground at London’s Victoria station, surrounded by the hussle and bussle of rush hour, I longed to be anywhere other than the capital of this United Kingdom. Well the tumult and the shouting can be put aside for a while as I’m off to Liverpool this evening to spend time with my mum, her partner and my sister, not forgetting Lilley my mum’s black Labrador. I do hope that my guide dog, Trigger doesn’t cause chaos by chasing Lilley around the house but that is, alas I fear to much to wish for!

I will be returning to London on 9 August and it is unlikely that I’ll blog while I’m away. See you all on or around 9 August.

 

Kevin

The Joy Of Feedback

Yesterday evening I met up with my friend Brian for a couple of pints and a curry. Brian has just returned from France and I was delighted that while there he read my story Samantha while relaxing in the grounds of a beautiful French chateau (now there is a man who knows how to live the good life)! Brian was extremely complimentary about Samantha stating that the story is exciting and well written. Receiving feedback from close friends is wonderful particularly when they express a liking for your work. Of course there is the danger that friends and family will hold off when providing their opinion due to not wishing to cause offence (how many mothers would tell their son that they don’t like their literary or other artistic creation for example?!). However I have known Brian for many years and I know that he would not hold back in providing feedback irrespective of whether or not he liked my writing. For my story Samantha please visit http://www.amazon.co.uk/Samantha-ebook/dp/B00BL3CNHI

Me reading Ernest Dowson’s poem ‘They are not long the weeping and the laughter’.

Me reading Ernest Dowson’s poem They are not long the weeping and the laughter

Me reading The Darkling Thrush by Thomas Hardy

This is one of my all-time favourite poems, which I first came across while browsing in the school library. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4k-irrAeTzA

The First Time Available In Full On My Blog

I have decided to publish my collection of short stories, The First Time on my blog as a thank you to my followers. The book is also available in the Kindle store as an ebook, however as it is not enrolled in KDP Select there is no obstacle to me making it available in this manner. I hope that you enjoy reading The First Time.

 

—

 

THE FIRST TIME

 

Chapter 1

 

Becky stirred in horror at her credit card statement. Surely she haden’t spent all that money? Becky scanned the list of transactions for the sixth time.

There was no mistake, the statement was accurate, the outstanding balance was £5321 . “shit” Becky swore outloud. How could she have been so stupid. When

she took out the card Becky had intended it to be used for emergencies only but expensive shoes, a state of the art laptop, a designer label handbag and

enumerable trips to expensive eateries could hardly be classified as emergency purchases.

Becky’s credit limit was £5000    and she had breached that by £321. She looked again. “christ” she owed them £30 for having breached her credit limit.

Becky’s beautiful oval face suffused with tears, her blue eyes usually full of laughter resembled lagoons so full where they of water.

When Becky had graduated from university some 6 months previously with a first class degree in english literature she had never realised just how difficult

it would be to obtain a job. Sure she had a job at her local pub, the Fox which paid £6.08 an hour but even if the landlord, John agreed to allow Becky

to work at weekends (she was already working every week day evening) the additional money would hardly make a dent in that horrendous bill!

“Fuck” her rent was due tomorrow. She owed £500 to the council. How was she going to keep body and soul together?

Becky thought of Julie her friend from university. They where very close and confided in one another about everything. Becky knew that Julie worked as

an escort. They had been out clubbing when Julie’s phone had rung and she had left to “see a client”. Could she sell her body like that? Becky had had

her fair share of one night stands. Her long blonde hair, blue eyes and slim figure made her a magnet for testosterone fueled clubbers. However Becky had

been physically attracted to every man she had slept with. Sure there haden’t been intellectual compatibility in most cases, however the men had been good

looking and Becky had, on the whole enjoyed herself.

 

Becky was no fool. She understood that being an escort entailed sleeping with men from whom one would, in the normal course of events steer well clear.

Could she sleep with someone who she found physically repulsive? Feeling sick in the pit of her stomach Becky opened her handbag and took out her mobile.

She sat for several minutes the little pink phone nestling in the palm of her hand. Eventualy, fighting back her increasing feeling of nausea Becky sellected

Julie’s number and dialled.

“Hi Becky, how are you?” “Ok. listen Julie I need money desperately, can you …”. “Becks are you sure that this is what you want to do? You know that you

will have to have sex with the clients, you understand that don’t you?” Through her constricted throat Becky’s answer emerged, hardly audible “yes”. “Ok

Becks there is this guy, Mike a regular of mine who has been asking if I know any new girls. He is OK, a bit fat but he has always been polite and he tips

well. Would you like me to ask him whether he would be interested in seeing you?” Becky realised that she had been chewing her lip. She could taste the

tang of blood in her mouth, “Yes please Julie”, again her voice was barely a whisper. “OK Becks I’ll do that but please sweetie think very carefully whether

this is something which you really want to do. Once you are in that flat it is very difficult to back out”. “I understand but I’m desparate Jules, please

help me”. “OK Becks, I’ll call you back once I’ve spoken to Mike”. Becky ended the call. —–

That evening Julie picked up Becky in her car. They drove in silence through the streets the lamps shining on Becky’s pale face. Julie put a gentle hand

on her friend’s arm “Becks are you sure that you want to go through with this? You look ghastly, like something from a Stephen King movie”. Despite herself

Becky smiled weakly “Thanks, I need the money Jules, I’ll be on the street if I don’t pay the rent”.

The car turned into a car park belonging to a nondescript block of flats. “Here we are” Julie said. “do you have condoms becks?” “Shit I didn’t think”!

“Don’t worry take these” Julie said pressing several packets into her friend’s hand.

As they exited the car Becky pulled her long coat close around her slender body. It hid the short mini skirt, the strapless dress and the silk stockings

she had on. As she walked she tetered on the six inch high heels. Becky was a flat shoe sort of girl, she couldn’t get used to these darned things.

On reaching the flat Julie gave Becky’s arm a final squeeze and said “I’ll wait for you in the car park. You’ll be fine but any problems just call”. With

that she turned and walked away. Becky pressed the doorbell. It was opened almost immediately by a balding podgy man in his mid fifties. Becky’s stomach

lurched. This man was almost the same age as her dad. She didn’t find him remotely attractive. Could she go through with this.

“Hi, I’m mike, nice to meet you Becky. Julie has told me a lot about you. Please come in. Would you like a drink? I have wine or beer”. “A glass of wine

would be nice please”. As mike busied himself in the kitchen Becky tried to make herself comfortable on the big leather sofa. The room was full of books.

Shelves full of the classics of world literature stirred back at Becky. “I see that you are admiring my books. Do you like reading Becky”. “Yes my degree

is in english literature”. “Really so was mine although I was at university while you where still in dypers” Mike smiled. “I can tell that you are new

to this game because you haven’t asked me for the money yet. Here it is, £200 for 2 hours”. Becky held out her trembling hand and took the money. She made

a show of counting it but in truth her brain was so full of conflicting thoughts and emotions that she had no idea whether the money was, in fact the correct

amount. Becky wanted to run, to throw the money back at this guy and get the hell out of there but she needed the money. She couldn’t throw away £200.

Becky made a supreme efort. She turned to Mike and asked “what is your favourite Dickens novel”. Once the conversation warmed up Becky began to feel at

ease her relaxation being helped along by the wine which she was consuming in copious amounts. Mike’s hand touched her knee and began to explore further.

“lets go into the bedroom” he said. Becky picked up her handbag and followed him into a clean and well appointed room. There where silk sheets on the king

sized bed and the scent of Bold filled the air. Becky undressed mechanically and lay on the bed. While Mike took his pleasure Becky tried to think of country

walks with her grandfather. She thought of the bluebells in the woods where they used to stroll together. Mechanically she moaned in what she hoped was

a convincing manner and when it was all over she excused herself, rushed into the toilet and was vilently ill. It wasn’t just the wine, it was a feeling

of worthlessness which made her wretch.

“I’m sorry the first time is often the worst” mike said. To Becky he appeared to be genuinely concerned for her welfare but she still wanted to get the

hell out of this guy’s flat. “I’m fine Mike. Thank you for a lovely evening” she said kissing him on the cheek. Once the door had closed Becky ran despite

the high heels. She couldn’t do that again, could she? She was not a mere recepticle for guys to pour themselves into but she needed the cash.

 

Chapter 2

 

Becky pulled open the car door and flung herself into Julie’s arms.

Julie hugged her friend close neither girl speaking for several

minutes. “God it was horrible. I can’t believe what I’ve just done up

there” Becky said eventually breaking the silence. Julie could think

of nothing that could serve as anything other than a wholly inane

response to Becky’s distress so kept her peace. “Julie are they all as

awful as Mike”! “Beks there are guys much, much worse than Mike Carter

believe me!” “I can’t believe that Jules!” “Becks I recently saw a

bloke who asked me to dress up in a school uniform and pretend to be

his 14-year-old daughter. He wanted me to call him daddy while he screwed me”. “You told him where to go didn’t you Jules?” Julie looked out of

the window into the dark night  for a long time without speaking.

“Lets get you home Becks” she said after what seemed an age.

—-

Becky unlocked her front door and headed straight for the kitchen.

Opening the fridge she took out a bottle of wine (she neither knew nor

cared about it’s vintage, Becky just needed a drink). Grabbing a

coffee mug Becky filled it almost to the brim and took a huge swallow

leaving it almost half empty and Becky fighting for breath. Taking the

remainder of the wine with her she went into the bathroom and placing

the mug on the toilet lid began to run a bath.

She must have dozed because when Becky opened her eyes she found

herself leaning against the toilet bowl with water dripping over the

side of the blue bath tub. “Damn the thing” Becky muttered as she got

unsteadily to her feet. Reaching into the water Becky pulled the plug

out and, when the water level had dropped leaving the bath half full

she stepped into it. God it was hot but Becky didn’t care. Taking a

scrubbing brush she rubbed her skin until her body hurt all over and

the blood came sseeping out. Still Becky could smell the scent of

Mike’s aftershave. His smell seemed to have impregnated her every

pore.

Is this how women react when they’ve been raped Becky thought. She

dismissed the idea almost as soon as it entered her head. She had gone

into Mike’s flat knowing that he wanted sex, she’d taken the money and

had provided “a personal service”, god how she hated that phrase!

Knowing that she had consented didn’t make Becky feel any better, she

loathed herself even more.

Becky got out of the bath and after making a half hearted attempt to

towel herself dry went into the bedroom. Falling into bed she hugged

her favourite teddy bear, Toby bear tight. Toby had been a present

from her grandfather and she treasured him despite his missing right

eye and the ripped left ear. Becky had loved her grandfather and the

feel of Toby’s furry body next to hers made her feel a little less

alone. She would give up escorting once she’d cleared that credit

cardbill and got a job which paid a half decent wage Becky thought as

her eyes began to droop. Mike had been generous. When Becky had

counted the cash she found that he’d included a £50 tip making her fee

for the evening £250 rather than the agreed upon figure of £200. Kind,

sweet Julie had lent her £400 (Julie was doing very well as an escort)

meaning that Becky had £500 to pay her rent with and £150 left for

other expenses. Owing that money to Julie was another reason for

continuing for a while at least in the escort business. As Becky

finally fell asleep her last thought was “perhaps selling one’s body

is not so bad, perhaps, perhaps …”. …

 

Chapter 3

 

Becky awoke to a football team practicing in her head. She lay there for several minutes wishing that she could return to the land of sweet sleep but the

insistent throbbing in her temples forced her to get up, she needed headache tablets and strong black coffee. Becky put her feet over the side of the bed

and attempted to stand. The room performed somersaults before her eyes and Becky had to place both hands on the wall to prevent herself from collapsing

on the bedroom floor. Feeling nauseous she rested her head against the wall. gradually the feeling passed and Becky slowly made her way to the bathroom

holding onto the wall as she went.

 

Opening the medicine cabinet Becky took out a packet of aspirin. She swallowed two tablets with a glass of water. Replacing the glass Becky turned on the

shower and stepped under it’s blessedly cooling spray. She stood letting the cool water sooth her aching head. The shower made her feel a little more human.

 

Stepping out of the shower Becky grabbed an old dressing gown from behind the bathroom door and ventured into the kitchen. She couldn’t face the thought

of food (her somersaulting stomach warned her that food was not a good idea)! so she opened a new jar of instant coffee, placed a heaped teaspoon full

in a mug and turned on the Russell Hobbs electric Kettle.

 

Try as she might to block out the recollection, Becky kept seeing Mike’s fat hairy bottom labouring up and down on top of her. She grimaced at the memory

and went across the kitchen to turn off the kettle. As Becky began to pour boiling water into the mug her landline rang. Putting down the kettle Becky

went into her tiny lounge to answer the dratted thing as it’s insistent ringing was making her head redouble it’s throbbing. “Hello”. “Hi Becks it’s Julie.

I tried your mobile but you didn’t pick up so I thought I’d try the landline. Becks I’m going for my HIV test results today. I can’t face going alone.

Can you come with me?” Becky just wanted to have her coffee and return to bed for a while but she couldn’t say no to Julie. Her friend needed her support

and she couldn’t let her down. “Of course I’ll come Julie. What time do you need to be at the clinic?” “11:30″”. Glancing at the clock Becky saw that it

was 10:20 . “I’ll pick you up in 15 minutes, is that OK Becks?” “Yeah that’s fine Julie, see you then”. Becky replaced the receiver and returning to the

kitchen poured water over the instant coffee. She would have to drink it quickly as Julie would be here in 15 minutes.

 

—

 

The client rolled on top of Julie and opening her legs thrust forward attempting to penetrate her. “What the hell are you doing? I don’t have unprotected

sex” Julie yelled pulling away from him. “I’m clean, I don’t have anything”! “”Either we use a Durex or I’m out of here”! The man swore vilently but submitted

as Julie rolled a condom down over his erect penis. He mounted her and began to hump away.

 

Some sixth sense told Julie that something was not quite right. She could feel the guy’s hand fiddling around with the condom. “What the fuck do you think

you are doing?!” Julie jerked her body away but she was to late. The client shot inside her leaving the condom lying like a deflated balloon on the matress.

“You selfish bastard, what the hell do you think you are doing”. “you’ve been paid now just fuck off out of my flat”. Inwardly seething Julie dressed,

left slamming the front door behind her and drove straight home. On entering her flat Julie went straight to the bathroom and washed herself all over paying

particular attention to her vagina. Christ she hoped that soap and water would wash away any poison that arsehole had shot into her.

 

The next day Julie visited her nearest Sexually Transmitted Diseases (STD) clinic. “You have Herpes I am afraid” the nurse confirmed, “but that can easily

be treated” she went on handing over a bottle of antibiotics to Julie. “I strongly recommend that you return here, in 3 months time for a HIV test. The

virus can take upto 3 months to manifest itself so testing now would fail to reveal the pressence of the virus. I know that it is easy to say but please

try not to worry. You have done the right thing by coming here today to get tested and coming back in 3 months will set your mind at rest”.

 

Those 3 months where the longest in Julie’s life. When she was out and about socialising with friends she could put her potentialy positive HIV status to

the back of her mind but those long dark nights. Julie lay awake tossing and turning her mind a cauldron of thoughts and emotions. What if I have HIV?

I’ll die in agony. No guy will want to be my partner, they’ll run a mile once they know I’m HIV positive.

 

—

 

Julie felt detached from reality as she entered the clinic for her HIV test. “I’m sorry Julie but this may sting a little” said the Australian male nurse.

Julie noticed that he was rather good looking, almost certainly a sportsman with those strong legs and well toned muscles. Christ she thought I’ll be asking

him out next one simply can’t invite someone out on a date in a STD clinic! The thought brought the briefest of smiles to Julie’s wan face. A little prick

and it was all over, Julie’s fate stirred back at her in the shape of a small bottle of red liquid, her own blood which had until a few moments ago been

coursing round her warm and vibrant frame. “The results take a week to come back. The lab will test for antibodies to the HIV virus. If antibodies show

then we will need to do another test to confirm conclusively whether you are HIV positive. Hopefully the test will prove negative” he said giving Julie

a sympathetic smile. Do you have any questions?” Julie shook her head numbly. “OK Julie the receptionist will make an appointment for you to attend in

a weeks time”.

 

—

 

An irate man shouted at his equally angry girlfriend “How could you do it? I mean how could you sleep with my father”. The audience clapped in agreement

while the unfortunate partner turned beetroot red. God Becky hated these so-called reality shows where brainless morons could enjoy their pitiful few minutes

in the limelight. How could people wash their dirty linen in public like that Becky pondered. Glancing at Julie she was surprised to find her friend seemingly

engrossed in the show. How could Julie find this mindless drivel interesting? Becky kicked herself. Poor Julie was taking a moment’s restbite from the

thoughts which tormented her and if that solace was to be found in daytime TV what right had Becky to judge her for finding it there.

 

The Health Adviser entered the waiting room and said “Julie Sanders please”. Slowly Julie stood up and gripped her friend’s arm. “You will come with me

Becks won’t you?” “Of course” Becky said gently squeezing Julie’s hand. “I’ll be there for you Jules whatever happens”.

 

“This is my friend Becky, I’d like her to stay with me please” Julie said as they followed the Health Adviser into his office. “Of course Julie, no problem,

please take a seat. I’m afraid that our computers are running very slowly today. It may take a little time for me to pull up your records”. The room lapsed

into silence accept for the steady tick-tock, tick-tock of a wall clock. Becky’s eyes fixed on the hands as they crawled around it’s white face. To her

the clock seemed to mock her “your friend will die, you will die, only time remains” it seemed to say.

 

The Health Adviser turned to Julie. “I’m so sorry Julie but the test results reveal a high level of antibodies to the HIV virus”. Julie opened her mouth

but no words came out. “What does that mean?” Becky asked. “If the body becomes infected with the HIV virus it tries to fight it by creating antibodies.

Ultimately the virus weakens the body’s immunity to disease to a point where HIV develops into AIDS, however with modern drugs many people are living for

longer and are enjoying a good quality of life”. Julie rocked back and forth “I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die” she whispered. Becky hugged her

tight. She felt the warmth of Julie’s breath on her face and her eyes pricked.

 

—

 

Julie was asleep at last. Becky looked at her friend’s beautiful grey eyes with their long eyelashes and a lump arose in her throat. She went into the bathroom,

laid her head against the cold tiles and wept.

 

The end

 

Lucy

 

When Lucy appeared in Mark’s life eyebrows hit the roof. How could this crusty old batchellor attract a nubile young thing like Lucy Finch. There she stood

just over five feet in height her long black hair framing an exquisitely beautiful face. Lucy’s grey eyes never strayed from Mark’s face while her tiny

hand with it’s ever so perfect little finger nails remained wrapped in his huge rough paw.

“Here comes Mr sugar daddy with his sugar baby” people whispered as they winked covertly at each other. “Surely she isn’t European. She looks like a Thai,

that letch has gone and got himself a Thai bried” others sniggered behind their hands.

These innuendos were not lost on Mark. He glared at anyone he suspected of regarding him with contempt. Lucy on the other hand smiled serenely, whatever

happened her eyes stayed glued to Mark’s face.

No one ever heard her utter a word, “see I told you she is a Thai. She doesn’t understand English. It’s Mark’s money which keeps her here. He has all the

charm of a plank of wood so what other than his fortune makes her stay?The dirty dog who would have thought it? that mark would find himself a young girl

like that. The dirty old man!”

Lucy cooked and cleaned tirelessly. The furniture was polished to perfection and one could see one’s face in the brass candlesticks.

Lucy delighted in pleasing Mark. She rushed to fulfill his every desire. In the bedroom Lucy fulfilled all her man’s desires. Perpetually wearing that

self-same smile she would pleasure Mark beyond what he had ever dreamed as being possible.

When marked yelled at her Lucy’s expression never faltered. She gazed back with the same fixed smile, she could do nothing else for Lucy was a robot.

 

The Pain Behind the Smile

 

Isabel pressed the familiar bell and waited with her hands behind her back. The door opened “Hi, Issey” Peter smiled delightedly “come in”. Isabel entered

and closing the door behind her kissed Peter softly on the lips. “This is for you” she said suddenly revealing a gold box done up with pink ribbon which

she’d gbeen concealing behind her back. “What is it?” “Why not open it and see” Issey said a smile playing around her eyes.

“Come through into the kitchen. I need to find some scissors. I can’t wait to see what’s inside”.

Hand in hand they walked into the kitchen. Taking a pair of scissors from the cutlery drawer Peter neatly cut the ribbon and opened the box. “Oh Issey

it’s lovely, I wasn’t expecting a birthday cake and it’s my favourite, chocolate cake! Wow it even has 30 candles on it” he said. “Well you are 30 so what

did you expect” Issey said laughing. “Thanks so much” Peter said taking Issey in his arms and gently kissing her neck. “I have a nice bottle of wine in

the fridge, lets sit down and have a glass with that delicious cake! Oh before I forget here is the money” he said handing over an envelope. “Don’t you

want to count it?” “No darling you are my favourite regular, I trust you, lets have that wine”. Isabel meant what she said. As an escort she saw some real

tossers but Peter had always treated her like a lady and over the 12 months or so they’d known one another she had grown rather fond of him. Seeing Peter

was business but it wasn’t a living nightmare unlike some other clients she could think of.

—

Peter poured them both another glass of wine. “so Issey what made you become an escort” he asked the words slurring as he attempted to articulate them.

“So I could sleep with sexy hunks like you” Issey said placing her hand on his right knee. “Please, you never give me a serious answer to that question”.

“I want you Peter, I’m so horney” Issabel said starting to unzip his trousers”. Peter wanted this gorgeous girl so much. He felt himself stiffen as Issey’s

hand found it’s way into his pants, however that nagging question simply refused to go away. “Issey why …”. Issey took Peter’s face in her hands her tungue

expertly exploring his mouth putting an end to any further questioning.

—

It was the same dream over and over again. The room was silent. The young teenager lay in her bed praying “god please don’t let him come tonight. Please

god don’t let him come tonight. The door opened and a figure moved on stocking feet to the bed. “It’s your favourite uncle, Issey loves her favourite uncle.”

Afterwards she lay feeling nothing or, more accurately afraid to feel less she drown in her own sense of shame and disgust. In her hand lay the crumpled

£20 unwanted but she couldn’t throw it away.

“Are you OK Issey?” Peter asked concern showing in his eyes. “Yes I’m OK, I was having a nightmare, sorry if I woke you”. It was half true. She had been

having a nightmare but her whole life was she thought a nightmare of sorts.

 

Hemlock

 

The girl approached Malcolm and taking his hand in hers intoned in a soft musical voice “Darkling I listen; and for many a time I have been half in love

with easeful death, called him soft names in many a mused rhyme, to take into the air my quiet breath; now more than ever seems it rich to die, to cease

upon the midnight with no pain, while thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad in such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain – to

thy high requiem become a sod”.

The audience, hard bitten venture capitalists all, gaped with wonder at this beautiful girl with her long blonde hair falling in cascades down her back,

at her deep blue eyes and her slender figure.

“OK Professor, the jokes over. Who is this young lady? What is her name?” asked the chairman of the board, Sir Steven Carter.

Professor Steel smiled indulgently and speaking in a manner which he usually reserved for his more obtuse students said “As I explained at the start of

this demonstration the lady you see before you is Becky the first ever truly intelligent robot. Becky is designed for the discerning gentleman, for the

man who wants to be around a beautiful and intelligent lady but who, for whatever reason is not in (or does not wish to be in) a relationship with a flesh

and blood female. Imagine the potential of this invention gentlemen. No more need for the man of means to wine and dine a girl, buy her expensive presents

and (god forbid actually marry her)! If you gentlemen can come up with the finance then your company will be world famous. Imagine being known as the firm

who launched the first ever artificial woman of culture!”

A hand was raised “Yes, the gentleman at the back of the room with the red tie and white shirt”. “Can she er … I mean can Becky do other things”. The Professor

smiled (he smiled a lot but the smile never reached his eyes), “Indeed she can. Becky has a very convincing set of female organs all of which are in perfect

working order. Even gentlemen of culture have their needs and Becky is designed to cater to your, sorry I mean their every whim”.

“I want one” said the chairman. “I’ve often wished to switch off my wife and now this robot has come along it is, at long last possible for me to do just

that”! Miss Mortimer the only female board member looked daggers at the chairman who vissibly shrank in his seat and coloured deeply, “I was only joking,

no offence meant” he mumbled turning as red as the curtains which flanked the stage on which the Professor stood.

Another hand was raised. It was that of Malcolm Fisher the journalist who had been the recipient of Becky’s attentions. “Yes Sir, the gentleman with the

press pass sitting in the front row”. “Isn’t there something sacrilegious about Becky?” “Sacrilegious, what do you mean?” Malcolm thought of Jane, of how

they’d walk for hours in the countryside. One day, as dusk was falling the song of a nightingale had reach their ears. Jane’s eyes had become moist and

turning to Malcolm she said “It’s to beautiful, I want to cry and she quoted those self-same words that that “thing” had just intoned. He’d taken Jane

in his arms and softly kissed away the tears from her gentle brown eyes. With a jolt Malcolm pulled himself back to the present, the Professor was staring

expectantly at him. “I don’t know how to put it accept to say that this invention seems to have crossed some line. Once we have crossed the Rubicon who

knows what will happen”. The Professor suppressed a sigh, “My dear sir man is but a machine. He takes in food to fuel his body and his very mind is but

a highly intricate mechanism for processing thoughts and emotions. Becky is a machine, why should not two machines come together. This invention will enhance

the sum of human happiness by enabling those who can not find (or do not want for whatever reason to find) a human companion and from the perspective of

you gentlemen it will to borrow a phrase mean “loads of money”!

“Well Professor we are certainly very interested in your invention. I’ll discuss it with the board but I’m sure that you will be hearing from us in the

very near future. Many thanks for your informative presentation” said the Chairman.

As he left the building those words of Keat’s popped into Malcolm’s head “As though of hemlock I had drunk”. “I need a drink” he thought turning his steps

in the direction of the nearest pub but perhaps not hemlock.

 

Speke Hall

Standing by the old house listening to the rain. The scents of the garden and the ancient wood beyond delight my senses. The smell of autumn fills the air. The woodland floor strewn with acorns. My grandfather and I walking together, the feel of acorns clutched in a child’s hand. Opening the fruit the kernel exposed to little exploring fingers. Leaves crunching, grandfather close and near.

My aunt standing close, we two sheltering from the rain. Grandfather departed many moons past. My aunt followed several years ago. They are part of something now beyond my comprehension, a small speck in nature’s unfathomable plan.

Great metal birds shriek overhead drowning out the singing of their feathered cousins. Oh how times change. In centuries past the hall dominated the village of Speke. Villagers and hall joined by threads tying one to the other. The domestics toiling to keep the house in good order, it’s owners and their guests maintained in comfort and well fed. Like a well regulated clock the hall ran smoothly, estate workers and domestics knew their place, all was right with the world. Or was it? Where the masters and mistresses of yesteryear tyrants exploiting the local poor? The truth lies no doubt somewhere in the middle. At best the domestics of the past had a sense of pride in maintaining the local squire while he (or she) in turn felt a sense of obligation to their employees. At worst domestic service entailed getting up at an ungodly hour to sweep the grate and light a fresh fire so that the hall would be warm for when the family arose later in the day.

 

http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/speke-hall/

 

Was it a semi-feudal paradise with kindly m