Police Line Up

Samuel Palmer (1805 – 1881) Self Portrait

The task to write the inner thoughts of the subject on the postcard.

How did I get here, here in the police station? One minute I’m minding my own business watching the St Scholastica’s Day Oath swearing and the next, pow, from no-where, a man carrying lighted candles bashes into me. My jacket, besmirched with candle wax, I’ll never get it clean. Just as I stopped spinning a baker’s boy carrying floured loaves crashes into me, flouring my face in the process. Blinded by the flour, I stumbled into a man while searching for support. With stinging eyes, I held on for dear life, a chain tangled in my fingers. The man pulled away, yelled ‘Thief.’ As he did I heard a rip and fell forward, the chain and associated weight within my hand. Would you believe it; a Bobby was passing by as the man yelled.

Bobbies are wonderful folk as long as you’re on the right side of the law. He blew his whistle, at least I think it was him, it shrilled in my ear and the noise was followed by a sharp pain in my kidneys and stars in my head. Next thing I knew, I was in a Paddy Wagon with knaves, drunks and criminals, I mean me! I tried to be invisible, it didn’t work, they jeered, accused me of being a popinjay. They thought I was crying, that I was scared of them but it was the flour.

The indignity. I was searched. The bobbies made me empty my pockets, they laughed at the miniature of my mother, they made me sit handcuffed to a bench like a common criminal. I listened to the man telling them I tried to steal his watch. Me!

They’ve sent for Father. He will bloviate, tell me I’m stupid, outline the stupidity of walking alone. Of course he’ll buy the old man off with a new jacket and watch. He’ll lecture me on the perils of poverty and threaten to withdraw my allowance. He’ll even talk to Sir Robert about his men’s appalling behaviour towards a gentleman. He’ll expect me to be grateful. He’ll sort everything out and expect me to be grateful. I’ll grovel to his face of course; make out that I’m listening. He won’t threaten me with the Army or Church though, there’s one advantage to being the Eldest Son.

The dates don’t quite tally. Bobbies came into existence in 1829 and the last St Scholastica Day Oath Swearing was in 1824. Palmer never lived in Oxford.

Hamlet

‘To be or not to be; that is the question. What the fuck is that bloody prince on about? He don’t know that he is born!’

‘A silver spoon. That’s what ‘e ‘ad. There he goes again, mooning about his dead dad and his fucking mother.’

‘Claims his uncle the king is that incestuous, that adulterate beast. Married his mother too quick. What he don’t know is what we know.’

‘Yeah. All those months she slept walked from her boodwaar to ‘er husband’s brother’s. My Jennie told me the sheets were always a right mess.’

‘A right so and so she is. Not Jennie, that Gertrude. Knows what side her breads buttered on that’s for sure.’

‘My Jennie, she tol’ me that if you look at ‘Amlet right, well you can tell, he ‘as the look of ‘is uncle like.’

‘You mean?’

‘Yeah, right on. Born the other side of the broom that one. Well it was no surprise to any of the women folk when she married ‘im as quick as the passing of the day. She wan’ed the money and the position of course but she also wan’ed ‘im and to put the real faavver and son togever like.’

‘He has a right oedipal complex. I’ve heard from John who heard it from Geoff who heard it from Jack who heard it from ...’

‘Get on with it, I get the gist.’

‘Any way, that he’s mad as the proverbial and he’s gonna kill his uncle, his real dad.’

‘What the fu ... kill ‘is own dad? What’ll that do to ‘is mum?’

‘Well, John said, he wants to marry his mum!’

Icarus

It had seemed so simple only hours before, sat there in the bar drinking, being cheered on by the Gang. He, a champion diver, winning trophies for his skill, on holiday in this warm island, consuming alcohol as if it were water, found himself being talked into taking a dive off of the local cliffs. People did it every day.

His head still spinning with grandiose ideas, the young athletic David walked from the hire car to the cliff edge. He removed his clothes, moonlight glinting on his sculpted form, and waited, toes curled on the edge, his friends clapping heartbeats building anticipation. He was a god, a supreme being.

The world disintegrated literally beneath his feet. As he stood the Great God decided to bring down this upstart, the cliff edge gave way. The clapping stopped. A scream ascended.

‘Oh fuck,’ a voice proclaimed to the darkness.

‘Help me. I’m stuck. I’ve got caught on something. If feels like an old fence post. Help.’

The Gang carefully peered over the edge they could see their friend hanging onto something.

‘I’m getting help.’ A voice echoed as footsteps pounded away.

The sun rose slowly on the horizon, Apollo taking over from Selene. The birds woke, their morning songs filling the air. The Gang searched for rope, for anything to help their friend.

‘Hang on David. We’re trying to get help.’

A siren sounded, a police car arrived. Help had arrived. A rope was thrown down, an abseiling policeman started to descend. Too Late.

David’s grasp on the concrete beam loosened. The rough unseen grooves scraped their way from his clutches as his being was liberated towards the cool, brisk freedom of the crisp night air below. A pigeon glided past his cold gaze, slowing just long enough to cast a casual glance at its new fellow of the sky. David slipped further into the night’s sky, silence engulfing his final journey his last descent; the soft rippling waves awaited their guest. Time his only companion.

Free writing

A 7 minute exercise in class, responding to random words called out by the teacher.

Ghosts are now called paranormal activity but were once thought of as part and parcel of daily life who would need to clear up unfinished business before they could relocate to heaven or hell. This was demonstrated in the 1990’s film Ghost where the main character – a ghost had to revenge.

It is a normal feeling amongst humans to want to take their revenge on others for the wrong doings done to them. Sometimes this is shown in positive ways. Robin Hood for Mother.

Mothers are supposed to be warm and cuddly. What happens if your’s is not? Mine wasn’t, isn’t. Mine likes to control and does it through manipulation, often working to avoid doing things she fears. I don’t remember being held by my mum as a child, touching, kissing, that is something forced sword.

The shiny sword swung through the air, sharpness glistened in the moonlight, eyes travelling to the practical hilt would see it held by two small hands; arms struggling to hold it aloft. Fear helping.

Mail Call

The task: to write a scene with a shift in status based upon my own life. I was asked to read mine out in class by Helen Mosby my tutor. Her only comment has been incorporated in the story below.

‘A letter for you.’

She looked at the crisp envelope: Jamie Barton, Delivery Administration, Holbrook House. Outside it was full on early December; the office lights ensured only the occasional train could be seen through the windows.

‘It won’t open itself.’

Slowly, the flap was unpeeled, the single sheet of paper pulled out, the black type written words read:

Dear Jamie,

I would like to welcome you to my team where you will hold the post of Admin Manager. You will start on the 17^th of February 1992. You are invited to a Christmas Thank You on the 15^th of December where you will have an opportunity to meet me and your new colleagues.

Please call me to arrange the details.

Regards

Les Brooks

This was the hard evidence which said she had done it. The shaky request to be allowed to apply to the assessment centre; the acceptance; the day of answering written questions in silence; the interview: last week the call to the office where Vernon told her she had passed every stage, the only non substantive applicant to be offered a job. When he had explained that it would be working with project engineers on an exciting project with a five year life; that had worried her; only five years, yet Vernon had worked his magic and convinced her it was a good thing.

‘What does it say?’ Alan, her boss was persistent.

‘I start on the 17^th of February and I need to call Les Brooks.’

‘Call him then.’

Choked fear allowed the phone call; every second frozen until it was time to leave, while words ran silent at brake neck speed: I’ve got it. I’ve got to do it.

Half way to the car, walking between the old Portland stone constructed railway buildings, no-one else around, it hit her: Disbelief and Self Doubt dropped into the gutter: I’ve got it. I can do it. I’ve got it! She stopped, then ran, her fist clenched, her legs bent and pushed into the air as her arm swung into the sky punctuating; ‘Yesssss’.