Now Is The Time!

( I wrote this some years ago, when I was studying Nazi ideology, and called it "A Futurist soliloquy from Dr Josef Goebbels", I have returned to it because I think it has relevance to events in the world today, particularly the behaviour of ISIS)

The past is dead, but still it sits
a moldering corpse upon a cobwebbed throne
and still its priests and acolytes
preach subservience to its stupid creeds
and tell us, this is good, but that is bad
thou shalt do this, but thou shalt not do that
self-serving claptrap! shameless lies!
by which the young are smothered by the old.

But now:
now is the time
you are strong
rise up!

Throw off the shackles that enslave you
tear down the rotten prison walls
take up the stinking rubbish of the past
and burn it: burn it all!

And from this cleansing flame there will arise
like a phoenix
a glorious new world.

Forward the fighters!

Quiet Ghosts

He did not have a name,because he was dead. He could remember little of his past life, but he recalled the face of a girl whom he had very much wanted to meet. He drifted from town to town, over many countries, until eventually he found her in a hotel room. He was invisible to most people, but she could see him.
   "Hello!" she said, "Who are you?" She was not in the least bit frightened.
   "I don't know", he replied. "I just wanted to be with you". It was strange that they could understand each other,since they spoke different languages.
   She said, "Tomorrow I have to fly to America. I would like it if you could come with me".

They boarded the plane and he watched over her until she fell asleep. He then drifted along the cabin and into the cockpit. None of the passengers saw him, but the pilot did. With a sudden scream of fright the pilot drew a small automatic pistol and fired several shots. They passed harmlessly through him and punctured the fuselage of the aircraft. It immediately depressurized and plunged downwards into the waters of the Atlantic.
    There were no survivors of the disaster, but he and the girl drifted contentedly together through the world until they had both forgotten who they had been.  

Cinderella: An attempt at a pantomime script!

Cast in order of appearance:

Lord Chamberlain

Cinderella

Baron Hardup

Gertrude (first ugly sister)

Marguerita (second ugly sister)

Page

……………………………………………………………………….

(Sound of bell ringing. Door opening)

Lord Chamberlain: Is your master in, child?

Cinderella: Yes, sir: I’ll fetch him (she exits)

Chamb: (aside) If she’d wash the dirt off her face, she’d be quite a pretty little thing

(Footsteps)

Cind: Here’s a visitor, father. (Cinderella exits)

Baron Hardup: What can I do for you, my man? You haven’t come with a bill, have you? Because I’ve explained: I will pay everything in full; it’s just that right now …..

Chamb: Do you have any daughters living in the house, Baron? It’s them I need to see.

Bar: They haven’t been ordering more dresses and jewellery, have they? It really is too bad! I’ve told them again and again that I won’t be responsible for their debts, and they simply take no notice! Can’t you tell them? They might listen to you!

Chamb: Baron, I am not a debt collector. I am Lord Chamberlain to His Majesty the King. What I have to say to your daughters could be greatly to their advantage, and yours. Just call them, please.

Bar: Oh, your grace! However could I have made such a stupid mistake! (Claps hands) Gertrude! Marguerita! You’ve got a very important visitor!

Chamb: (aside) Idiot!

Gertrude and Marguerita (enter, chattering) What’s happening? Who’s this?

Chamb: (aside) Good grief, what a hideous pair! Still, orders are orders. (aloud) Young ladies, I come on a mission of the highest importance. At the ball last night, His Royal Highness Prince Charming danced with a mysterious young princess, who then unaccountably vanished, leaving only a single slipper. His Royal Highness was so taken with the beauty of the said princess that he has vowed to wed her as soon as she may be found. To this end, I am commanded to ask every young lady in the city to try on the aforementioned slipper until the true wearer can be identified. Let us therefore proceed. Page: the slipper!

Page: Here, sir.

Gert. and Marg. (together): Me first! Stop pushing! Out of the way! Ow!

Gert: Give it here, you moron! (Grunts and groans as she tries on slipper)

Chamb: It’s clearly far too small for you. (aside) That’s a relief!

Gert: It’s my feet! I danced so much last night they’ve swollen! It would fit normally.

Marg: My turn now! (Grunts and groans)                                                  

Chamb: It doesn’t fit you either

Marg: I think I’ve developed a bunion

Chamb: (aside) I can’t imagine the Prince would be disappointed to hear that. (aloud) Well, Baron, I’m afraid these two don’t qualify. Are there any more young ladies in your household? What about the girl who answered the door?

Gert: Oh, she’s nobody

Marg: Just a servant. Besides, she wasn’t at the ball: she was here, working in the kitchen.

Chamb: But, Baron, didn’t I hear her addressing you as father?

Bar: Well, yes, there is another daughter. Her name’s Cinderella. But she doesn’t get out much. Too shy, you know.

Gert: You’d be wasting your time.

Chamb: Nevertheless, Baron, His Royal Highness has commanded me to try the slipper with every young girl in the city. So would you be good enough to call Cinderella in here? (aside) It’s no more than a very long shot, but I’m going to do it anyway, if only to annoy these two revolting hussies and their ridiculous father!

Bar: Cinderella! (claps hands)

(Cinderella enters)

Bar: Cinderella, the gentleman here wants you to try on a slipper

Cind: Yes, father

Gert: Look who’ll be getting a swelled head!

Marg: She’ll be insufferable after this!

(Short pause)

Page: Oh look sir! The slipper fits her perfectly!

Gert and Marg: Oh!

Chamb: So it does! Well, well! Cinderella, you must answer me truthfully: were you at the ball last night?

Cind: Yes I was, sir, and I danced with the Prince; but at midnight I had to run away, and I was in such a hurry that this slipper came off my foot and I didn’t have time to pick it up.

Gert. and Marg: (together) But she can’t have been! It’s not possible!

Chamb: (aside) Hmm. With a decent hairdresser and dressmaker she could be made to look quite presentable. The Prince could do a lot worse. The next step must be to get her away from her appalling family. (aloud) Now, Cinderella, your whole life is about to change. You must come with me to the palace. No need to pick anything up; we’re leaving immediately!

Bar: Just a moment, your grace. If you’re taking my beloved little girl to meet the Prince, I don’t suppose you could find your way to lend her poor old father the odd fiver, could you?

Teddy

The child threw her teddy-bear which
came bouncing towards 
me. It had wild
ferocious eyes and its
mouth was open; its teeth
sharp and hungry.

I have had this dream several times, and each time I have woken up in alarm at this point. But what if, on some future occasion, I am still asleep when the teddy-bear reaches me?

At the seaside

“I have come to the sea. I hate the sea”.

     He had much the same thought every year. There was so much about the seaside that he disliked. The strange and unpleasant fishy smells. The way sand got everywhere when the wind blew: into his eyes, his hair, his clothes: all very irritating for a fastidious gentleman. The perpetual taste of salt on his lips. Not to mention the extortionate prices charged by mediocre hotels in the holiday season. 

     But of course there were compensations. He would be sure to meet some attractive young girls, and with luck their mothers would allow him to photograph them, and to write to them afterwards. It would all be very pleasant. But in his heart he knew that any such episode would be no more than a doomed attempt to recapture the joy of a lost love from the past, which now survived only in memory. Here he was, a middle-aged gentleman, moderately successful and prosperous, with plenty of friends, but afflicted with a gnawing feeling of loneliness. 

    Fortunately, he never remained despondent for long. While he was collecting together the toys to attract the attention of children, he ran through in his mind a jokey little poem about his dislike of the seaside, and before he set out for the beach he jotted it down. He signed it, as was his wont, “Lewis Carroll".

Dreaming and Waking

There was a man in Carolina who
had a Diplodocus which he
bought at a pet store because
the shopkeeper thought it
was an alligator, but it
grew to an enormous size and devastated
the country for miles around
but soon people came from
all over the world to
see the monster, and his attorneys who were
called Magree and Graeme initiated complex
lawsuits on his behalf and so the
man and the Diplodocus lived happily
ever after.

.............................................................

But I'm not sure I really believe this story. Quite apart from the fact that the Diplodocus became extinct tens of millions of years ago, I don't see how anyone could possibly mistake a baby one for an alligator. The whole thing is most improbable. Even the names of the lawyers are only anagrams of each other. Nevertheless, I would like to believe that he really did have a Diplodocus. 

Why teenagers shouldn't necessarily be encouraged to write! (Part 2)

When I was about 16 I began to write a novel by post with Ted, an old friend. We were living in different parts of the country by this time, so I would write a chapter and post it to him, and he would then write a following chapter and post it back. We continued this until we were in our early twenties, and both at university. Another mutual friend, David, also made contributions. The work went under the title of "The life and epic adventures of Cecil Z. Frampton, Gent." - showing the influence of Henry Fielding: other influences including Sherlock Holmes, Francois Rabelais and science fiction. It was eventually abandoned unfinished. I discovered the manuscript several years later, and I think I can say, in all honesty, that it was pretty bad. Ted's contributions were on the whole rather better than mine.
     There are two problems with teenage writing. One is that teenagers are unlikely to have a style of their own, and instead are unduly influenced by the style of other writers; often producing a pastiche verging on parody. The other is that teenagers usually don't have much to write about that would be of interest to non-teenage readers. It is very noticeable that a large number of first novels by young writers are about how they were misunderstood at school; often focusing on how they were no good at maths. Ted and I at least managed to avoid this: we both did well at school and were good at maths. Nevertheless, almost all the characters were closely based on our teachers and school-friends, and the plot was sheerest fantasy.
    I still have the manuscript of  "Cecil Z. Frampton", but I doubt if it will be released on an unsuspecting public.
   Oh, and we really did enjoy writing it!