The Tenth Man

(Genesis XIX, verses 20-31: "And the Lord said: the sin of the city is very great. But Abraham said to the Lord: Wilt thou also destroy the righteous with the wicked? What if ten righteous men be found in the city? And the Lord said: if ten righteous men be found there, I will not destroy the city").    

So who was he, the tenth man
whose righteousness saved the city?
And where was he found:
in the office or the schoolroom,
the workshop or the bar,
or the little patch of grass where only the drunks go?
And did he realize?
Did he know it was for his sake 
the earthquake was dormant,
the tsunami was stilled,
the bombs did not fall,
the invading armies turned aside
and the city was saved  
by him?

This year, in Syria
he wasn't there at all.

The Hitch-Hiker

A huge black-purple cloud like a gigantic sinister mushroom had sat menacingly over Cheshire and south Lancashire all afternoon, threatening imminent downpour up ahead of me. Soon it was officially night-time, though this made no real difference to the visibility, or lack of it.

    I don’t generally pick up hitch-hikers, but the state of the weather made me more merciful usual. Besides, this was a woman, so I daresay some old-fashioned chivalry kicked in too.

   She was good-looking in a slightly blowsy way, but her clothes were unusual. She wore a hat a bit like a traditional gentleman’s topper, and a black dress, with lace-up boots of the Doc Martin’s variety. The most striking feature was her eyes, which were intense and piercing.

       As we drove off I commented on the foul state of the weather. She replied that she didn’t mind it, and then surprised me by talking about how in the past storms were caused by witches, and that some still possessed the power to do this. I don’t talk much when I’m driving, and I reckoned that any human contact would be preferable to the third-rate pop music and inane chit-chat that you get on the radio, so I responded with some vague interjection like “Oh really?” This set her off, and soon, with no further encouragement from me, she was into a detailed discourse about black magic today, and her part in it. She kept turning round to face me; fixing me with those unsettling eyes of hers. I was increasingly puzzled, and uneasy.

    As we joined the M6, the storm was going full blast, the rain came lashing down and we were reduced to a crawl. My companion was delighted. “What a storm!” she chortled, “There must have been some really strong cursing going on to get this! I think I can make a guess as to who’s responsible! I wonder why they did it!” For no reason that I could discover, she began discoursing on initiation rituals, and tantric sex as a powerful engine for magical power. I told her I’d never been initiated into anything. “Oh, but you must!” she cried. I daredn’t turn to look at her, but I could feel her eyes boring into me.

   How was I to get rid of her? It occurred to me that, although I’d told her where I was going, namely, right up to the Lake District, she’d never told me where she was going or where I should drop her off. What on earth was I to do?

    We stopped at a service station, and I filled up with petrol while she nipped inside. While she was away I came to a decision, and I’m afraid I took refuge in an outright lie. I told her that I’d just received a message on my mobile from the friend I was going to stay with, saying that he was surrounded by flood-water and advising me not to come; so I’d have to leave her there, because at the next intersection I’d be turning round and going home. No doubt a more adventurous man would have taken her home and demanded to be instructed in the joys of tantric sex, so I suppose you could say I chickened out, but there you are.

   The last I saw of her was in the rear view mirror as I drove away. A sudden flash of lightning illuminated her as she stood there. I wondered whether she’d claim credit for it.

Actors and Actresses

Mike came to Pauline's flat and said, "Well, the production's finished, so I'm returning these things of yours I borrowed for it. Did you see the play? Did you like it?"
    "Yes, I did see it", Pauline replied, "but now you mention it: no, I didn't like it at all".
    "Oh? And may I ask why not?"
    "Well, for a start; it's hardly a new concept, is it: a shortened version of Macbeth in modern dress. And Phil Duckworth was easily the worst Macbeth I've ever seen: to describe him as wooden would be an understatement. I suppose you had to choose him because he was the only man in the cast capable of remembering his lines. And as for having the three witches as a kind of drug dream under strobe lights: that should have come with a taste warning instead of a health one!"
  "I see. And did it perhaps occur to you that the intention was to show Macbeth as a rather dim soldier who suffered from delusions because of post-traumatic stress, so it was all deliberate?"
   "So you say. But I say Phil was just a rotten actor. Period".
   "Well, I can see there's no point trying to debate the point with you. But what about Samantha Johnson as Lady Macbeth? Wasn't she terrific? She'd never acted before,you know. Talk about undiscovered talent! Now she wants to be a professional actress; full-time!"
   "And that's another thing. What on earth possessed you to depict Lady Macbeth as some kind of tarty teenager? It wasn't even funny!"
    "Why shouldn't she be a teenager? There's nothing in the play to say how old she is. And Shakespeare's plays are full of teenagers. Look at Romeo and Juliet; and for that matter, Richard III and Anne Nevill at the start of the play. So why not Lady Macbeth too? And Sam played the part so well!"
    "Look, Mike; I've known Sam Johnson for a lot longer that you have, and I can tell you, she's nothing more than a common little scrubber. So for her to play a tarty teenager wasn't acting at all: she just had to behave naturally! As a matter of fact, I can see her as a professional actress: on porn videos for sale on the internet; that'd be just her style. And I know perfectly well why you picked her for the part. You've always fancied her, haven't you? and you thought selecting her for the leading part would increase your chances: the old casting couch, of course. Well? Did your cunning plan succeed?"
   Mike stood up to go. "I know perfectly well why you're being so rude", he said."You're angry because I asked you if you wanted to help with the production, and you said no. Either you were just too idle, or more likely you chickened out. Now I've had to work hard on it, but I've achieved something - and I can tell you, a lot of people liked the play, for all your sneering - and you've achieved nothing. You're jealous!"
    "I wouldn't have wanted to be associated with rubbish like that, thank you very much!"
    Mike snorted and left the room noisily.


The next visitor was Sam Johnson. She was wearing a new dress, in what looked like an expensive Designer style. How on earth could Sam have afforded that, Pauline wondered.
   "Hiya!" said Sam in her usual slovenly voice, "I was packin' up my stuff an' I found I'd got these CDs an' fings belongin' to you, so I fought I'd better bring 'em back before I left".
   "I like the dress", said Pauline.
   "Nice, innit? It was a present".     
   "Are you going away?"
  "Yeah! This guy: he saw me in the play, an' he gave me this dress. He wants me ter come down ter London. He's a film director, an' he wants me ter work for him. Short stuff to start wiv. Adverts; fings like that!"
    Pauline thought any comment on her part would be superfluous. 

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?