@jillsted
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😊. Pleased to be of service! Didn’t think I would be inspired by the prompt, but my unconscious must have been working away overnight and this ‘wrote itself’ this morning. The wonders of the creative process…
A 1950s Childhood
July 2026 finds me sitting in the shade in our garden, grateful for the slight breeze and half drifting off into a heat induced sleep. It is Sunday and we have just finished a FaceTime call with our family in America. Again, gratitude for the wonders of modern technology allowing us to keep in touch and part of our grandsons’ lives as they grow up, oh so quickly.
In my soporific state, my mind wanders back to my own childhood in the 1950s. Sundays then were very different. No shops were open and it was for many a real day of rest, with family time, Sunday School or Church – perhaps a trip to the park. Only a few had a car to wash on a Sunday! My family was not amongst those few.
But we had a large garden and we girls were often to be found shadowing our father as he went about tending it on a Sunday. That garden was the breeding ground for much of my own creativity, as I played letting my imagination run wild.
On a Sunday, our mother would cook the traditional roast and we would enjoy the family meal; afterwards perhaps watching a programme on the very small screen, square television set which our father had first rented so that we could watch Queen Elizabeth the Second’s Coronation. It would be truly dwarfed by today’s screens, but we thought it wonderful then.
After Sunday, obviously, comes Monday and, in the July/August school holidays we were free from any computers, social media or smart phones – free to play in the garden or go cycling or to join with friends in whatever activity took our fancy. If it rained, there were books or board games.
Monday would be the day our mother took out the clunky meat mincer, clamp it to the kitchen table and mince whatever was left over from the Sunday roast to make a shepherds’ pie or cottage pie. The routine never wavered. The mincer was, of course, hand operated. Nowadays we are spoilt with so many kitchen and other gadgets using electricity.
‘Yes’, I think, as thirst jolts me into moving to go indoors for a refreshing cold drink, ‘those were simpler times not all that long after WWII and each decade since has brought myriad changes: some good, some not so good.’
396 words including title.
No need for guilt, Ath! Congratulations of your Solstice 70th Birthday – wishing you many more to come. Hope the healing is progressing apace.
Well, the June competition became a real competition thanks to an eleventh hour entry from Athelstone… and both entries are worthy of being winners, but I shall have to choose one Denizen to hand over the baton to for July.
Sandra, it was lovely to have a glimpse of your writing style, your ‘voice’ in the extract from your WIP. I love your use of language, the suspense and the intrigue. It left me wanting to read what came before and what, indeed, happens when ‘the magic goes black’.
Athelstone, you have written a different take on Midsummer at Stonehenge. I love the way the story began with atmospheric descriptions of nature around the site and then the change of ‘tone’ bringing in Teabreak and friends’ goings on. Just when I thought it was going to be an ‘idyllic’ piece! In the end it did become that with the magical sunrise. The mysterious Alwin? Is she a magical being? Did you purposely use that name for her because the name meaning has associations with elves? (Albeit, usually a male name…)
Thank you both for entering. It was a pleasure to read your excellent entries, but I have decided to declare Athelstone the winner of the June competition, simply because I love sunrises and sunsets too, as you may have gathered from my ‘avatar’!
So, over to you Athelstone. I look forward to seeing what you devise as a theme for the July competition.
Jill
Gentle reminder ~ only 4 days left should anyone wish to add to the single, intriguing entry for June’s competition…
Halfway through June and one intriguing Midsummer Magic story. Hoping the second half of the month will ‘conjure up’ more magic from Denizens!
Thank you, Sandra. It was an enjoyable challenge taking us back down memory lane. The three other entries were diverse and clever in their interpretation of the theme.
June’s prompt will be posted sometime today. A few ideas are rolling around in my head! Jill
Thank you for explaining. I will keep everything crossed that you get the answers and treatment you need from the doctor. You must be a real fighter to have come as far as this with what your discharge notes have revealed. Impressive! I trust your determination now to push for answers will pay off.
Good morning ~ such good news about no cancer. I am very pleased for you and can well imagine your relief on being told.
Now to get the other issues fixed very soon …
I had blood thinners for 6 months as the Lymphoma had caused clots on my lungs, so perhaps your GP might prescribe those? Just a thought, as every case is different. Worked for me anyway thank goodness.
Best wishes. Jill
Thank you.
Glad you are seeing progress in several ways. Long may it continue!
Will be thinking of you on the 11th. Jill
I have only just happened upon this.
Oh my goodness, Ath – what a horrendous time you and your wife have been through. Sending positive vibes and very best wishes for a steady road to recovery. Be very gentle on yourselves. Jill
(15th March 1969 Wedding – Songs: Where do you go to, my lovely,Peter Sarstedt and The way it used to be, Engelbert Humperdinck)
Marie Claire
The sun filtering in through the yellowing net curtains barely lightens the dim, soulless room, mirroring the dullness I feel inside as I watch you staring at me with blank incomprehension.
We have lived a long time, you and I, Marie Claire and have come a long way from our humble roots in Naples. Childhood friends, we both eventually clawed our way out of those dingy back streets and ended up in Paris, but you somehow climbed higher than I did. I have never dared dwell on exactly how, not wishing to sully my idealistic vision of my beautiful friend. You became part of the Jet Set, living a life of decadence and luxury, whilst I eked out a living as a songwriter.
But you never forgot the close bonds we had as that young boy and girl and for this I am grateful; treasuring the occasional meetings we enjoyed.
Now, on this early Spring morning, I am trying not to shed tears, as I acknowledge the way it used to be between us will never return. You do not recognise me and all I have left are my solitary memories of our amicable relationship.
A carer knocks quietly at the door before entering to administer you some kind of medication and to sit you up straighter in the high backed chair.
My sad musings are disturbed and I ask the carer if I can help in any way. She replies that all I can do is be there for Marie Claire and hope there might be a brief glimmer of recognition but not to hold out too much hope.
When she has left the room, bustling away to tend to the several other residents in the private care home, I take Marie Claire’s wrinkled hand, praying that this tactile gesture might jog her brain into recognition.
She pulls her hand away, as if in fright. Then the blank stare returns and she sits as still as one of the statues in the Paris museums. A seemingly empty shell.
I wipe away the tears which have refused to be stemmed and, unexpectedly, the words of a song which we had both loved when we first came to this city pop into my head.
‘Where do you go to, my lovely’.
As that young aspiring songwriter, I had envied the skill of Peter Sarstedt and imagined he must know my Marie Claire and had written the song about her.
Perhaps he had, for the words did reflect the life she had come from and the life she was then leading and would continue to lead until this cruel disease had beset her.
I wonder where Marie Claire’s mind now goes. Is she able to dream or to have flashes of remembrance?
I kiss her gently on the top of her head and depart.
499 words including preamble and title
Congratulations, Sandra. Loved your entry, which captured the mind and voice of that little girl so well. Look forward to your May competition challenge!
Thank you for the kind comment on my own entry.
Thank you, Terrie for setting this challenge which stretched creativity to meet the four word inclusion criteria.
Thank you, too, for your thoughtful comments on both entries.
METAMORPHOSIS
Vulnerable, estranged from her family, unexpectedly out of work and living in poverty in Aberdeen, the Granite City, it was easy for her to understand now why she had been taken in by him. He was extremely charming and persuasive. She’d moved into his luxury apartment soon after their first chance meeting.
The first time he hit her then apologised profusely, blaming stag party drink, she forgave him, desperate to make the relationship work. The second time, she managed to come to her senses, recognising that he had been particularly subtle in his coercive control. She had, after all, studied Psychology at university and had been working in a hostel with victims until the funding had been cut. She should have known better.
‘What a fool I’ve been,’ Vanessa thought ruefully. ‘I’m definitely worth more than this.’
The next time he came home worse for wear, she waited until he was deep in a drunken stupor and silently packed a bag. She hesitated before opening the drawer in which he kept cash. She was not proud, but tried to justify her actions thinking of all he had put her through.
Walking through the grey, rainy streets in the early hours towards the train station, the guilt lingered, but she needed to escape to somewhere he could not easily find her. London seemed the best option. It should be simple to remain anonymous, find menial work and some basic accommodation until she could get her head and life together again.
As the train hurtled towards the capital, she sat back and took a deep breath, feeling safe at last. She delved into her bag for the card which showed the ‘portrait‘ of Psyche. Her friend had sent it to congratulate her on her degree. It had become her talisman. She loved that Psyche’s name meant both ‘a breath’ and ‘butterfly‘, whimsically feeling some sort of spiritual connection, as her own name also meant butterfly.
She fingered the card now, trusting that it would bring her luck eventually in finding a new position in the field of psychology. She had been wasting her talents and had almost wasted her life with that man.
Putting the card back into her bag, she felt another card and pulled it out. It was the one he had sent her after their first meeting. Florid words and yet seemingly so sincere, making her feel loved and important to someone again.
How wrong she had been. She decided that, at the first opportunity, she would safely ignite it; a ritual symbolising her new beginning: her own metamorphosis.
433 words
Thank you, Janette for stepping in and for your kind comments. (Only bit of reality in mine is that we did get married on The Ides of March a very long time ago and are still here to tell the tale!)
All the other entries were so imaginative, well written and enjoyable to read.
Congratulations, Terrie – yours was very clever and truly mad! Wonder if the April theme is going to be equally mad … Jill
Madness on the Ides of March
493 words excluding title
All those years ago she had been teased relentlessly by friends about her wedding date, the Ides of March. ‘Beware!’ they had warned her. ‘You must be mad,’ they said, laughing.
But here the happy couple of that March day were, celebrating a Big O anniversary and enjoying a holiday in the Caribbean. They had arrived a fortnight previously and she thought again that she must be quite mad, as she was not a strong swimmer and a little afraid of the sea.
However, she had joined her husband each morning taking Scuba diving lessons ready for today. Their small group of beginners was going to be escorted down to a shipwreck quite a long way from the shore.
The lessons had given her some confidence it was true, but she still shivered at the thought. They were waiting at a beach cafe in the hot sunshine drinking coffee. She felt her heart beat quicken when her husband spoke.
‘Time to get going, so drink up.’
He was incredibly eager and not at all fearful. She envied him his gung ho attitude and his enjoyment of a few extreme sports back home. But she had promised; had taken up his dare when he reassured her it would be a wonderful way to celebrate and that she would never regret it.
All kitted up and having listened intently to the safety guidance, the group was guided towards and deep down to the shipwreck. It was rotting, but she could see that it had been a magnificent vessel and hoped that the sailors had survived. The colourful fish and other marine life teemed around the wreckage and the sight was more wondrous that she could ever have imagined.
Briefly, a thought crossed her mind that sometimes the maddest of ideas could lead to the most wonderful of experiences.
Back on dry land later that day and refreshed from a siesta, the couple sat imbibing pre-dinner champagne. The sunset was particularly brilliant on that Ides of March and they sat in silence soaking up the view.
Her husband gave a contented sigh. ‘So, my idea was a good one?’
‘Oh! Yes. I thought I was mad to agree, with my poor swimming skills and my fears, but I didn’t want to disappoint you and I am really grateful that I’ve had that once in a lifetime experience alongside you.’
He raised a quizzical eyebrow, ‘Once in a lifetime? You mean that you don’t want to repeat this on our next anniversary; here or somewhere else equally exotic?’
She noticed the grin he was trying to suppress and just batted his arm playfully.
After a special anniversary dinner, they were sitting on their balcony looking out at the moonlit sea when her husband took her hand and suggested that, if not more Scuba diving then perhaps she might like to try water skiing with him next year.
She laughed. ‘Now that really is a mad idea!’
Congratulations, Athelstone – well deserved. Peeked at your March challenge and looking forward to meeting it. Sandra, I loved your intriguing extract from what I presume is a finished novel or one in progress? Thank you Libby for the February competition which I enjoyed entering and for your kind comments. Very interested in your interpretation of the ending, which seems to have added an unintended intrigue to my work! In my mind, Lydia was doing everything with love and a with a sadness of heart because her mother had only a short time left to live, but I can see where you are coming from! Jill x
LOVE
399 words
Isabel woke from her nap to be greeted by the sweet scent of freesias. Sunlight was flooding into the bedroom she now occupied in her daughter’s home. Isabel was very old and frail, but still mentally astute and the scent of the delicate flowers which she had always loved set off a raft of thoughts about love.
She associated freesias with love because they had been her flowers of choice for her wedding bouquet and headdress. These on her bedside table were golden yellow, just as those had been. Lydia was such a thoughtful person. Isabel was long widowed and missed the golden freesias her husband gave on their anniversaries.
She mused on how lucky she was to always have had a loving family around her since birth. That mutual love had sustained her through many of life’s troubles and bereavements and she knew it would do so until the end.
She had been an introspective child and suddenly remembered standing one evening looking up at the sky and wondering what was the purpose of life. An inner voice told her it was Love and she had kept this belief. Love was an important emotion in all its forms and Isabel liked the way the Ancient Greek Philosophers had so many words to describe it.
She considered now that Agape/Unconditional Love might be the most important when it came to family relationships and friendships. She giggled softly, reflecting that Eros/Romantic Love had felt the most important in those heady, early days of courtship and marriage.
Then came the deep maternal love as she held her firstborn in her arms after a lengthy labour.
‘I must lighten up’, she silently chided herself. ‘I don’t want Lydia coming in to find me crying.’ So she shuffled herself upright and began to think of all the things she had often said ‘I love…” about.
‘I love chocolate; my baby doll; our new puppy; reading; writing; swimming in the sea; gardening; walking…’ the list was endless, but the last three which entered her head reminded her that she could no longer participate in these activities and made her sad.
Just then, saving tears from flowing, Lydia entered her room with her medications.
She smiled and told her mother once more just how much she loved her before administering the drugs to make her more comfortable.
Isabel smiled contentedly.
Congratulations, Libby – I, too, winced but enjoyed the humour in your story. I enjoyed Sandra’s offering also and even picked up a discarded copy of Anna Karenina after the mention, but could not get into it I fear. Thank you,Terrie for setting the challenge and for the kind comments. Mine was fiction but did have echos of much earlier life experiences and it was nice to remember as I wrote. Now looking forward to the February challenge. Jillx
Winds of Change 460 words
The New Year came in accompanied by a furious gale. Undeterred, Eva wrapped up warm and left her husband sleeping off the New Year’s Eve excesses.
She sat on the bench up on the hill which overlooked the northern town where she had lived all her life to this point. As she mused upon all the happy and sadder times, a flutter within caused her to lay a gentle hand upon her stomach. She smiled to herself.
‘Winds of change,’ she murmured and closed her eyes, needing to capture this moment; this place firmly in her mind’s eye. Tomorrow, she and Danny would lock up their small terraced house and venture forth upon the first stage of their new adventure – a nondescript chain hotel near to the airport.
The hotel on the Mediterranean island was, in complete contrast, a riot of colour and festivity and the couple relaxed in the sunshine looking out over the blue sea and talked of the opportunities this next phase in their life together would bring. After a week, they moved into the bungalow the company had provided as part of Danny’s prestigious promotion package. They set about nest building.
A few months later, a glass of sparkling water by her side, Eva lay back in her chair on the bungalow’s terrace and let out a contented sigh. After the heat of the day, the balmy breeze was very welcome.
‘Winds of change,’ she mused once more as the image of that northern hillside came unbidden into her mind. As if in agreement, her unborn baby stirred vigorously.
‘Not long now, baby, before we meet you and begin yet another chapter,’ she whispered.
Danny called to her as he returned home from work. ‘Come on, lazybones! Time to get changed or we will be late for the company’s gala dinner.’
Reluctantly, Eva roused herself and went inside to shower and change.
Since arriving, although Danny worked hard at his new job and she had occupied herself making the bungalow into a real home for them and their unborn child, her life had seemed one long round of formal dinners, dances and wifely excursions to the beach for group picnics and to historical sites to gain insights into present and past culture of the island. She was feeling exhausted, even though she had help from a motherly local woman with the household chores. She sometimes longed for the quieter pace of life they had lived in England and hoped that, when the baby arrived, she would be able to excuse herself honourably from some of the events at least.
One month later, Eva and Danny stood hand in hand, smiling down at newborn Dawn, as a warm breeze filtered in through the patio doors of the bungalow.
Well done,Terrie. Look forward to your challenge for January. Enjoyed each entry very much. Thank you, Athelstone for your kind comment on my contribution, which was fun to create! Wishing you all a Very Happy and Healthy, Creative New Year. Jill x
Nativity Mystery – A lighthearted tale
540 words excluding title
Miss Farthing sighed wearily and then screamed ‘Be quiet!’ She could stand it no longer. This was the last rehearsal of the Nativity play at Priory Primary School before the performance in front of parents and governors and it was utter chaos. Some children had swapped costumes. Now shepherds were wise men and vice versa. Joseph and Mary had exchanged head dresses as a joke. No-one was keeping to their designated places and there was much giggling. The supposedly sensible narrator – a boy in his final year – was nowhere to be seen.
The shock of hearing the usually calm Miss Farthing shouting so loudly did bring quiet to the assembly and a shame faced narrator from behind a side curtain.
The teacher adopted her sternest voice to bring them to order. She almost pleaded, but not quite, even though she had been near to tears. They took a break to calm down and to give the mis-dressers time to change into their own costumes. The narrator managed to stop his hiccups which had been brought on by his stifled laughter.
Finally, all were back on stage and this time the dress rehearsal went smoothly and Miss Farthing regained hope that all would be well on the afternoon.
All was to go well with the play itself, but Miss Farthing could not have foreseen the strange happening at the end of the afternoon.
Parents, governors and teachers filed into the hall on Friday afternoon, the last day of school before the holidays. They took their seats – rather hard wooden chairs – and settled down, anticipating an uplifting performance.
Behind the curtains Miss Farthing was giving a pep talk as the children took their allotted places. The baby doll was nestled in the wooden crib. Joseph stood proudly beside a seated Mary, who wore a beatific smile quite different from her usual impish demeanour.
Miss Farthing exited into the wings as the curtains went up. There was a round of quiet applause from the audience, because the scene on stage was indeed enchanting.
All went splendidly and there was great applause as the Nativity play came to an end. Then Miss Farthing stepped forward to the front of the stage and invited the audience to join in a Christmas carol to end the afternoon on a jolly note. The lyric sheets for Jingle Bells were under their chairs.
The children stood up, Mary cradling the doll in her arms. The music began – Mrs Lovatt at the piano and Mr Grimes wielding bells to ring at the appropriate moments.
More applause and laughter before a moment of silence into which a baby’s cry penetrated. The school head had requested that only adults should attend. Miss Farthing scratched her head. The crying was coming from behind her. She turned and there in the crib was a baby.
She lifted the tiny boy to show everyone and, from the back of the hall came a cry of astonishment.
‘That’s my little Henry! How did he get there? I left him at home with my mother!’
She dashed forward to retrieve the child.
No-one could answer her question, but all agreed it was a Christmas Miracle or perhaps just a Christmas Mystery which would remain unsolved.
Congratulations, Athelstone. I look forward to your December challenge. I enjoyed the other two November fireside tales very much too. Thank you, Terrie for setting an interesting challenge, which brought out the Grandma in me, although I have grandsons not a granddaughter! Jill x
Forest Adventure
Grandma lifted a pyjama clad Ellie onto her lap and they both warmed their hands by the roaring log fire for a few moments. Grandma smiled down at Ellie and asked if she was sitting comfortably. Ellie nodded and snuggled into her Grandma’s warm, plump body a little closer.
‘Then I’ll begin,’ said Grandma in the time honoured tradition of the storyteller.
‘Once upon a time, on the edge of the Great Forest lived a little girl named Eliza in a cottage she shared with her mother and her father, who was a charcoal maker. He would leave each day to work somewhere in the middle of the forest.’
Ellie asked ‘Is charcoal like the coal we sometimes use on this fire?’
‘It’s similar, dear.’ Ellie seemed satisfied with this reply and so Grandma carried on with her story.
‘Eliza was not yet of school age and so she stayed at home helping her mother. But Eliza had no friends nearby to play with and, one day while her mother took a nap, she ventured into the forest to find her father to watch him work.
The trees were tall and looming and Eliza was feeling nervous in the gloom. Nevertheless, she carried on with determination. She decided to turn left, hoping there would be some clue as to where her father worked; the smell of smoke maybe. Suddenly, the trees thinned out and she saw ahead a sunlit glade. Exhausted, she threw herself down onto the soft grass and fell asleep.
Eliza was woken by the sound of tinkling laughter. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. There surrounding her; looking at her with curiosity were six tiny fairies, who were exactly like those in one of her picture books. She gasped and the fairies laughed again. Without speaking the six fairies took hold of Eliza’s arms and legs and pulled her up. She towered above them, so the fairies cast a spell. Eliza shrank to their size. She was alarmed, but then remembered Alice in Wonderland shrinking and having adventures.
Soon, Eliza and the six fairies were dancing and playing games. It seemed to last forever. She felt so happy with her new friends.
But she must find her father who would take her back home. Her mother would be worried to find Eliza gone. Somehow, the fairies knew what Eliza needed. They lifted her up and flew above the trees to where Eliza’s father worked. They cast another spell to restore her to her normal size. Then they flew away.
Startled to see his daughter, but knowing better than to upset her by asking questions, he took her gently by the hand and led her safely back to the cottage and her mother. The three hugged warmly and Eliza vowed never to venture alone into the forest again.’
Ellie yawned and in a sleepy voice said, ‘I love a happy ending Grandma.’
‘And I love you, darling Ellie.’
498 words excluding title.