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!  

Frizzy and Jack: a story for children

When they had settled into their new home, Jack’s mother decided she would like a dog, and, Jack agreed, so they went round to the local Dog Rescue centre. Mother’s eye was caught by a small, bedraggled-looking creature. She immediately felt sorry for him.

“Isn’t he sweet!” she said, “What’s his name?”

“I don’t think he has a name he would recognize”, said the man who was showing them round, “He was very badly mistreated by his previous owner, and at the moment he doesn’t trust anyone”.

“Does he bite?”

“No; he’s just very scared of everyone he meets”.

“Well, I’d like to take him home and look after him!”

Jack’s father, who was not interested in dogs, thought he would go along with his wife’s wishes, and Jack agreed, though secretly he had hoped for a much bigger dog.

Jack said, “I shall call him Frizzy, because of his hair!”

At first, Frizzy was very mistrustful of his new family, but after a while he became used to them. He was a very affectionate little dog. When he saw Jack sitting on a chair, he liked to jump up on his lap and lick his face, which tickled Jack and made him giggle. But Jack was less pleased when he discovered that Frizzy was very timid. He was frightened of other dogs, and backed away from them when they barked at him. There was a big chocolate-coloured labrador living not far away, which barked and shook its garden gate jumping at it whenever it saw Frizzy, who was most reluctant to pass the house. Father said that the Labrador was only trying to be friendly, and that Frizzy had probably been bullied by other dogs at the rescue centre, and would eventually get over it. But Jack was not convinced. He was rather shy at taking Frizzy for a walk, because he was afraid his friends from school might laugh at him.

 “Why do you call them your friends if you’re afraid they’ll laugh at you?” said Father. “You’re not exactly being particularly brave yourself!” Jack said nothing: he knew father wouldn’t understand.

One Sunday afternoon Jack decided he would take Frizzy out and force him to be brave. He put him on the lead and deliberately led him past the house where the fierce labrador lived. As usual, they were greeted with wild barking and the big dog jumping against the garden gate, rattling it. Frizzy tugged at the lead and wanted to go straight home again, but Jack told him there was nothing to be scared of and dragged him past. They walked on to the end of the town and came to a field of cows. Although they had never been in the field, Jack knew that Frizzy would be afraid of the cows; but he wanted to teach him to be brave so he opened the gate and went in.

They hadn’t gone very far before the cows noticed them. Cows do not like dogs in their field, and they quickly gathered round in a menacing fashion. Now it was Jack’s turn to be frightened. He realized with alarm that their route back to the gate was cut off. Frizzy suddenly fled with such force that the lead was snatched from Jack’s hand, and sprinted for some woodland on the far side of the field; and Jack, panicking just as much, followed as fast as he could.

There was a fence. Frizzy found a gap between the railings and slipped through it. Jack clambered over the fence, but when he jumped down on the far side he felt a sudden agonizing pain in his ankle and collapsed on the ground. He lay there, panting. The cows stood looking at them for a while, but then lost interest and wandered off.

Jack tried to stand up, but found he couldn’t. His ankle was extremely painful, and must have been badly damaged. There was no way he could walk home. He realized he hadn’t told his parents where he was going. There was no-one about. What was he going to do?

For a while he laid on the ground in despair. Frizzy, not knowing anything was wrong, licked his face. This gave Jack an idea. “Frizzy”, he said, “You must help me! You must run home and let father and mother know where I am. I’ll write a note and tie it to your collar so they’ll know”. He felt his pockets, but discovered he had neither pencil nor paper. What was he going to do now?

There was only one small hope. He took off his watch and threaded it through Frizzy’s collar. Frizzy licked his face again.

“No, Frizzy! Not now! Go home! Run! Good dog! Run home and lead them back here! Home!”

Frizzy suddenly set off at a great rate, through the fence and across the field before the cows had time to notice, through the gate and onto the road, out of Jack’s sight. All he could do now was wait and hope for the best.

Jack’s mother and father heard Frizzy’s frantic barking. “Thank goodness!” said Mother, “He’s late for tea! I thought he’d never come!” She heard father open the door and say, “Hello, Frizzy! Now where’s Jack?” He called out, “Jack! Where are you? Teatime!” but there was no response. Then he said to himself, “That’s odd! No sign of Jack, but Fizzy’s here, and the dog lead’s missing. What’s going on?”

Mother came to have a look, and noticed the watch dangling from Frizzy’s collar. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “Jack’s put it there for us to find! He’s in trouble somewhere, I can sense it! He send Frizzy home to get help! What shall we do?”

Father was inclined to think this was a load of nonsense, but he knew better than to argue. “Well, even if that’s the case”, he said, “what can we do about it?”

“You must go with Frizzy and he’ll lead us to where Jack is!” Seeing a look of reluctance on his face, she added, “If you don’t want to do it, I’ll go!”

“No, I’ll go”, he said, concealing his private belief that this was ridiculous. He selected a length of rope to act as a lead and tied one end through Frizzy’s collar. “Now then Frizzy, take us to where Jack is!” he commanded. “I hope this isn’t some damn stupid game of Jack’s!” he thought to himself.

The big labrador barked more frantically than ever as they passed its house, but Frizzy ignored him and trotted on. Eventually they came to the cows’ field and Frizzy waited for the gate to be opened.

“Are you sure this is right?” said Father. “Hello! Jack! Are you there?” he shouted, but there was no response. There seemed to be nothing he could do except trust Frizzy, so they set off across the field towards the wood.

Once again, the cows gathered round in a hostile manner. Father tried to shoo them away, but they quickly closed in again. Then one of them tried to tread on Frizzy. He jumped aside, but the animal’s hoof caught him a glancing blow on the front leg. Frizzy gave a piercing yelp of pain, which was answered by a faint and distant call from the wood.

Father scooped up Frizzy. “I’m coming, Jack!” he shouted, and he ran, faster than he had done for many years. He was very out of breath by the time they reached the fence and scrambled over it, but there was Jack; found at last!

He looked at Jack’s ankle. “I’m not sure if it’s broken or not, but it’s badly swollen and you certainly can’t walk on it”, he said. “We’ll just have to summon assistance and wait”. He took out his mobile phone, tried to dial a number, and cursed angrily.

“Dammit! No signal! What a time for it to give out on me! Right: I’ll have to carry you home!”

“But what about Frizzy?”

“I’m afraid Frizzy will just have to take his chances”.

“But Frizzy won’t ever get across the cow field with his leg. No, Father, I’m not leaving him. If it hadn’t been for Frizzy you’d never have found me. I’ll carry Frizzy if you can carry me.”

Father thought for a while and then said, “Yes, you’re right. We can’t leave him; not after what he’s done”.

Despite his pain, Jack managed a weak smile. “Do you think you can carry both of us, Father?”

“I’ll have to try, won’t I? We’ll manage somehow”.

In truth, Jack’s father was not at all looking forward to carrying the two of them, but he hoisted Jack onto his back and took Frizzy in his arms. “Off we go!” he said, “There’s no point in trying to cross the cows’ field: they hate dogs, and we'd never get through. There must be some other way out of this wood!”

They followed the line of the fence. It was rough under foot. Soon Frizzy was whimpering with pain and Jack was trying very hard not to cry. Just when Father was thinking he would have to give up, they found a gate which led to a farmyard. The farmer’s wife was able to make phone calls, and soon an ambulance came for Jack. Mother arrived too, to go with him to the hospital; but he didn’t want to leave until Father promised to take Frizzy to the vet at the same time.

Later, when Jack was sitting on the couch with his ankle strapped up, sipping a hot drink that Mother had given him, and stroking Frizzy, who had a bandage on his injured foot, Father said to him, “I think we’ve all learned some lessons from this, haven’t we? First, of course, you must promise us that you’ll never again wander off without telling us, right? But also, we thought you were very brave with your accident; and very clever too, thinking to put your watch through Frizzy’s collar. Without that we’d never have guessed you were hurt. I’m sure you’re going to be brave in the future too. It doesn’t matter if you feel frightened: everyone feels frightened sometimes. I don’t think you’ll be worried about people laughing at you after this. Just remember: you may be very frightened, but you can still be brave – as brave as little Frizzy was”.

“But you were brave too, Father”, said Jack.

“Oh, rubbish!” said Father. He laughed and ruffled Jack’s hair.

The Wizard and the Demon

Udlotwyn was seated outside his cottage in the warm sunshine when he sensed coming towards him up the hill a sword with a man. When they were within sight he knew that his fears were justified.
    The man proved to be a youth; probably not more than about seventeen. He rode a good horse, but rode it clumsily, suggesting it did not belong to him: probably he had stolen it somewhere. But it was the sword he wore that worried Udlotwyn, for the sword was a demon.
   In past aeons, there had been many demons in the world, but now there were few: it was many years since Udlotwyn had seen one. They had come from Outside, he had been told, and the mighty wizards of past ages had striven to trap and imprison them, to preserve the world from the chaos and destruction they brought. He guessed that this one had been imprisoned in a sword ("Not a wise thing to choose!" he thought), and then buried deep in the earth for safety. Perhaps this youth had turned it up with his plough, and now he imagined he was possessed of a mighty weapon; but in fact the sword was possessing him. It would urge him on to deeds of violence, telling him that he could become a mighty hero, but in fact it would drain him dry, and when he was no more than an empty husk it would discard him and find a new bearer. In the meantime, he,Udlotwyn, would have to be very careful, for the demon in the sword would doubtless seek to kill him. Demons always hated wizards.
     Udlotwyn put forth his powers, out of practice though he was. Ignoring the youth, who would be under the sway of the sword, he concentrated on the most vulnerable target: the horse. By the time it reached the cottage,the horse was convinced it had gone lame in its right fore hoof and was limping badly.
   "Ho, wizard!" called the youth, brandishing his sword, "Bring me out your treasure, or I shall kill you now,rather than later, and slowly, rather than quickly!"
   That's the demon talking, thought Udlotwyn: how else would he know I'm a wizard? But the demand for treasure shows that the youth still has a mind of his own, otherwise he would have killed me immediately instead of wanting treasure. If I proceed carefully I may yet escape with my life.
    "Greetings, Sir Knight!" he said, "My treasure you are welcome to take, for what would an old man like me want with treasure? But it is hidden, and many spells are needed to unlock it,which will take time. But I see you horse is lame: you will not be able to ride far with him unless I cure him. I have food inside, and good water in my well. Pray you: stay a while in my humble cottage while I release the treasure".
   The youth dismounted, and being unaccustomed to riding, he had to return the sword to its scabbard in order to descend. Immediately the demon's hold over him was reduced, and Udlotwyn had little difficulty in persuading him that he was both hungry and thirsty. When the youth had come inside the cottage and was seated at the table, Udlotwyn placed before him not just bread, but the choicest wines and sweetmeats such as might be set before a monarch. Udlotwyn could sense the sword screaming Do not trust him! it's a trick!, but the youth's greed was now in full control of his mind, and it was not long before he had fallen into a deep drugged slumber.
    Udlotwyn unbuckled the youth's sword-belt and, taking care not to touch the sword with his hand, carried it to the back room and locked it in. He then returned to the sleeping youth and caused him to walk, all unawares, out of the cottage and mount his horse, where Udlotwyn secured him to the saddle. The animal was now recovered from its imaginary lameness, and he gave it a slap and commanded it to walk on. When the youth awoke,he would have forgotten everything that had passed. Udlotwyn hoped that the owner of the horse would not punish him: without the sword he seemed to be a harmless enough young man. Udlotwyn then returned to his cottage, sat down and wondered what to do next.
       Once, long ago, he reflected, the world was full of magic; but over the centuries it has all seeped away, and soon there will be none left. It is many years now since I met a wizard: maybe I am the last one. And this sword, perhaps, is the last demon remaining at large. But with no more wizards, who will be able to control even this single solitary demon? I must now watch over it, for as long as there is life in me.
     He entered the back room and with great reluctance drew the sword from its scabbard. Instantly he perceived the power of the demon as it spoke in his mind. Take me, master! it said. Together, none can resist our strength! Together we shall rule the world! But Udlotwyn knew it was only a deception. The demon in the sword would use him to spread death and destruction, and eventually, though it might take many years, in the end it would drain him dry and abandon him. But what could he do? It was said that in the past there had been mighty wizards who could expel demons, back to the Outside from whence they came. But I do not have that power, he thought: nor is there anyone remaining who could instruct me.
     He could still feel the sword tempting him with visions of power and glory, but although there was turmoil in his mind,he managed to resist, and decided on a plan. I must keep the sword here, he thought:  and then I must stay here to guard it; if necessary till the end of my life. But I must also place it somewhere even I will be unable to retrieve it, for I do not know whether I shall always be able to resist its temptations.
    He took the sword from its scabbard. Immediately it resumed speaking to him, promising wealth and glory. He felt his mind tottering as he walked across the back garden to the well. The sword guessed his intent. No, master, no! it shrieked, do no reject this chance! You can rule the world! You can restore the glorious days of magic! It took the last vestiges of Udlotwyn's will to take the cover off the well and drop the sword down. He heard it splash into the water far below. He the picked up several large stone and dropped them down until he was sure the sword was buried. He was utterly exhausted as he replaced the cover.
   He could still hear the voice of the sword, but it was now distant and faint. Maybe it would be best, he thought, to have a new well dug, in a different part of the garden. I shall say that the water from the old well is bad. As the men dig out a new well, I shall use the earth to fill in the old one. I had better do that part of the work myself, lest they should hear the sword and be tempted to look for it.
    He settled down to start his vigil. He would be there a long time.
 

New Year

Brian awoke to see weak daylight creeping through the window. Sheer force of habit meant that he always woke up at the same time every day, and it was only after a few seconds the he realized that it was New Year’s Day, and he was entitled to a little extra lie-in. Not that this day would be particularly special: he knew exactly what was going to happen. Certain people would wish him a “Happy New Year”, and he would wish the same to them: others he would attempt to avoid. After breakfast he would have a stroll outside. He always tried to walk round the garden unless the weather was absolutely foul: not that there would be anything much to see there at this time of year, but he could at least reflect that in a few weeks little green shoots would be emerging from the soil. And maybe he would see a few birds come down for the crumbs that he always scattered. Then for the rest of the day he would read and watch television, and maybe play the odd game of table tennis or pool with his mates. In fact, it would be a day much like any other. The next day was just as predictable, and the one after that. Another year in his life had ended, another was beginning.

   The sheer sameness of each day, and each week, might have preyed upon some minds, but Brian had become accustomed to it, and it no longer bothered him. In a way, the unchanging routine that stretched for years into the past, and ahead into the future, was quite reassuring, and saved him having to think too much. Though of course, he reflected, there could be some major change lurking in the coming year, something beyond his control, which would upset all his routines. They might even decide to transfer him to another prison.      

 .