The Girl with the Camera--Peter

Where the Mountains of Bourne run down to the sea, you will find the charming, little seaside resort of Tallyfina.   Close to the quayside stands  a   quaint Victorian pier which runs half a mile out  to the sea.  Gaily decorated with flags, it has a small domed theatre at the end where minstrels and poets  entertain visitors of an evening.   But never on the lst August, St. Gelig’s Day, when the gates are securely bound with a sign   DANGER - KEEP OUT.

Fourteen year old Ned, stood listening intently, as his mother questioned the old sailor who sat on the quay mending his net.

“You may laugh Maam but on that day the strangest things have occurred upon the pier.  People have even gone missing.  So for safety it will be closed tomorrow.”

At break of dawn the next day,   a spirited and curious Ned  stood before the locked iron gates that lay beneath the archway  that led onto the pier.  He quickly calculated that  he could not climb over.   But soon spotted the rail that passed the side of the entrance.  Undeterred by the narrowness and the fall, balancing like an acrobat, he carefully worked his way past the archway  and jumped down onto the pier.   Standing in the middle he let  his eye follow the broad planks that ran like rail tracks towards the theatre that lay at the end.

A white light suddenly  exploded like an enormous fountain in the dawn sky.   Flocks  of ghostly  holiday makers appeared  going to and fro.  From amongst the throng, a short dark figure advanced towards him.  A girl, no more than ten wearing  a beret and a peculiarly  old fashioned coat.  Twelve paces away, she stopped and taking a camera from her pocket carefully  took a photo of him.  The camera flashed followed by a clicking  sound and a picture emerged from the side like a ticket.. With a strange smile on her wan  e face, she came came forward and handed it  to him.

Ned stared at it.   It was not the pier!    Instead a boy sitting on top of an  enormous iceberg,  legs dangling over the edge.  It was him, Ned.  A polar bear sitting at  his side.

He looked up and to his astonishment, the girl and all the visitors had vanished but the  planks beneath his feet began moving frantically forward like a high speed  escalator, faster and faster sending Ned hurtling forward to the core of the   bright light.

When everything him began to slow and reform,  Ned found himself in a thick coat and  fur lined hood, staring into the ice blue  waters of the Arctic Ocean, Noschoska the bear panting heavily by his side.

Sue: Week 4 Picture

As the crew organise the new pitch and set up the big top in Branksome, Charlotte heads into Bournemouth. She needs to time her journey and locate the practice at which she will be working as a locum during their South West tour. Mission accomplished and already feeling disconnected, she hurries back to the car, keen to return to her community of travellers.

Nearing the car park, the increasing smell of salt in the air becomes a siren call, drawing her towards the sea front.  As she falters in her intent to rush back, she finds herself in the familiar territory of facing seemingly simple choices that have deeper undercurrents.  There are three hours until knife throwing practice, so she is not immediately needed back at camp.  Head says her presence, beyond a sense of belonging, will achieve nothing. However, from experience, she knows that her absence may increase the waves of unease that constantly ebb and flow across the community.  These waves cause friction and factions across the camp but can also rise up to slap against her actions and her need to be accepted.

Heart led living leads to unknown consequences. She wishes she could have perpetual choices of moments in which to live and from which she could emerge unaffected by her supposedly informed decisions.

On balance, her best choice would be to return, but instead, Charlotte follows her desire to walk onto the pier.

As she reaches the pier, she is struck by the orderliness of the promenaders.  The collectively obeyed, unspoken rule is to walk towards the end on the right hand side and return on the left.  Charlotte veers right to join the outward-bound line.  Her plan is to walk to the end, look at the view, then return. A simple choice. Half way down, Charlotte, changes her mind. She walks into the empty middle space and turns to contemplate the land from which she has come. If anyone had taken a photograph, the resulting picture would show that her instinctive action immediately isolates her from everyone else on the pier.

Julie : The Photograph

Cassie reached out and took the brown A5 envelope.  She turned it over.  The typed label addressed to ‘Cassie Mitchell, Reporter, The Anglian News’ gave nothing away.

‘Did anyone see who delivered it?’ she enquired.

Her assistant shook her head.  ‘No.  It was left in reception sometime this morning.’

‘OK.  Thanks, Leah.’

Cassie smiled and waited as her assistant left the office, shutting the door behind her.  Cassie looked thoughtfully at the brown envelope and turned it over again.  The last time she had received an anonymous brown envelope it had contained several compromising photographs of the local MP with a woman Cassie had later discovered was a Swedish actress.  She hoped this latest offering would cause her less trouble.

The envelope contained a single, 6” x 4” black and white photograph of a small girl wearing a coat and holding a camera.  Suddenly, Cassie’s mind flipped back twenty five years.  The coat had been royal blue, with a small black, fur collar.  She had been staying at her Grandmother’s for a few days, for some reason lost in the mists of time.  They had explored what Grandmother termed her ‘junk room’, which Cassie discovered was a back bedroom containing all sorts of treasures.  There had been a mangle, which Grandmother explained was for squeezing water out of wet clothes; there had been a large, shiny kettle; and there had been The Camera.  Cassie had been so excited to find a real camera, which Grandmother said she could have as it no longer worked.  Cassie didn’t mind.  She had been thrilled with the camera and pretended to take photographs for the rest of the afternoon.  She slept with it under her pillow that night.

The next day, or it may have been another day – Cassie couldn’t remember – a woman had arrived to take her out.  She was tall and slim, with her dark hair piled on her head in the fashion of the time.  They had gone to the seaside, probably Cromer.  After they had found an ice cream stall which was open, they had walked along the pier to the lifeboat station at the end.  Cassie was wearing her new blue coat, and pretended to take photos all the while with her camera: a seagull sitting on a post, a fisherman wrapped up against the cold casting his line off the pier.  As Cassie and the woman walked back, Cassie ran ahead, then turned to take a pretend photo of her.  The woman smiled, took her own camera out of her bag and snapped a photo of Cassie.

Cassie had never seen that photo until today, and, as far as she could recall, she had never seen the woman since.  She had speculated occasionally about who the woman might have been, but this had happened less and less until the incident had become a distant, half-imagined memory.  This left her now with two questions: who was the woman, and why had she sent the photograph to Cassie?

Sandra: Week 4-The photograph.

Sarah was rifling through the sideboard drawer searching for a pair of scissors, when she found the photograph.  She picked it up, curiously the little girl in the picture looked very like her. The girl stood on a wooden pier taking a picture of something or someone.
"Who is this Gran?" she asked. Gran looked over her shoulder and took the photo from her. "Its your mother", she said. "She must have been about five years old.  It was just after grandad died we had gone to stay with my sister in law Elsie and her husband Stan for a break.  They lived in Great Yarmouth at the time.
It was a freezing cold day I remember and Elsie had bought your mother a new coat and hat;  her old coat was too small and I had no money to replace it. She was so proud of that coat.  Elsie and Stan liked to spoil
your mother,not being blessed with chldren themselves. We all walked down to the pier together to look at the sea and your mother wanted a picture of Elsie and Stan so Stan gave her his camera to take the photo and I used our old brownie to take this picture of  Alice taking their photo, she looked so sweet".
Sarah could think of many words to describe her mother 'sweet' was not one of them. She looked quizzically at Gran who sighed loudly then handed the photograph back to her.
Sarah looked again at the photo, she had always thought that the two of them had nothing in common but the physical resemblance was striking.  Sarah wondered exactly what had turned her mother from the innocent young girl in the picture taking a photo of her auntie and uncle to the viscious, heartless woman that she knew. She remembered giving her mother a birthday card  a few years ago that she had made herself, she had written inside the card 'To my mummy, I love you' and drawn hearts and kisses with a purple wax crayon. Her mother took the card and then without reading it ripped it up and threw it on the fire.
She remembered every well aimed slap and every sarcastic put down that cut through her like barbed wire leaving wounds that left scabs that she would pick at for the rest of her life.
"Can I  keep it? she asked Gran. "Of course you can, love", Gran replied.
Sarah took the photograph and put it face down in the bottom of her jewellery box and never looked at it again.

Tony: Novel Synopsis

Rushton is an elderly, retired doctor, who knows that he is approaching the end of his life.  What has he achieved?  The story opens as he is painting a picture in his study, on a bleak February afternoon.  He knows he is unlikely to complete the work, and in any case he is more interested in what the activity of painting can do to “recapture” those lost moments, sequences, images, scenes, which form his real past, a past which in a sense he has been unconscious of all his life.  Previously, he had looked forever forward to a future involved with whatever projects, usually professional, lay to hand.

Now there is no future.  In facing approaching death he must submerge himself in the experiences which only he has known.  He must understand what it is that life has given him, and how he came to be “in love”, insofar as he has experienced love.  Possible oblivion awaits him, and he considers how the “chance” meeting with a young woman soon after the war, as he was setting out on his medical career, gave him the opportunity to help her become the person she wanted to be, as expressed by the youthful eagerness he detects in her, despite the recent impact of her father’s death when she was just seventeen.

He remembers and considers his marriage, seen externally as a set of pledges and the background to family life, yet for him now something rather different – the chance meeting of two people and their consequent resolve to cooperate mutually in developing their lives along a pathway they would never otherwise have taken.

The novel describes Rushton’s internal sifting through his earlier experiences, simultaneously discovering the true story of his life and marriage.

He considers, sometimes ruefully and humorously, his own younger self and his younger aspirations.  He realises that his own assumptions about masculinity must have often hindered his early relationship with his wife.  He considers his wife’s femininity, remembering how it was necessary for him to give up his own expectations of her, in order for her own spirit to flower spontaneously, and for the marriage to “progress” towards some kind of mutual fulfilment.  Could such fulfilment, however limited, be the true achievement of his life?

The novel then describes his final days.  His condition deteriorates to the point where he arranges for his own admission to hospital.  Only when they visit him there do his wife and younger son realise that he is dying.  Rushton acknowledges to himself their own confusion and fear, but he is himself wrestling with dread as he perceives “the wall of death” coming ever nearer, seemingly making everything else insignificant, as the hospital activities and the first vague stirrings of the spring season continue around him.  Evening comes, and his wife and two sons come to visit him again.

When they have left, and as the night draws on, he finally rejects his own imprisoning conception of the loneliness and hopelessness of death.  He feels that he has at last discovered the experiences and joys which are his true self, and it is in contemplation of these that he faces his end.

Sandra - week 3 synopsis

Sarah is 5 yrs old when she is taken to her Grandmothers house.  Sarah believes for a visit but her mother is carrying a suitcase and is in a hurry.Sarahs short legs have to run to keep up.
 Grandmother May widowed shortly after Sarahs mother was born  lives in a cream painted cottage with a handkerchief sized garden full of the roses that she loves. May earns her living by taking care of two mentally ill elderly men for social services; Mr Newson a retired merchant seaman with alzeimers and Fred a war veteran with post traumatic stress disorder.
In this strange household Sarah is brought up. Though at first she is frightened by the strange behaviour of the two old men she quickly develops a bond with them. Mercilessly bullied at school by the other children she retreats further and further into their world.
When Sarah is 11yrs of age her mother turns up at Mays' house in a smart black car.  Mother has a new boyfriend and a new home and wants Sarah back. Sarah is returned to her mother who treats her like a maid and shows no affection. Desperately unhappy Sarah runs back to  grandmothers house  - grandmother is out when Sarah gets back and the two old men Fred and Mr Newson decide they must hide her or she will get taken away again.
They take Sarah to an old Icehouse that is hidden in a copse at the back of Grans cottage.
Sarah is eventually found by police dogs and returned to her mother.
Mr Newson convinced that Sarah will return to the Icehouse makes frequent visits there in the dead of night. Always frail he gets pneumonia and dies. Fred devastated by the death of his friend and losing Sarah becomes hopelessly depressed and withdrawn.
Sarah blames her mother for Mr Newsons death and Freds demise and plans her revenge- she deliberately sets about getiting pregnant at 15yrs knowing that her mother will throw her out and she will be able to go back to Gran and Fred.
For a while the three of them enjoy a halcyon period, Sarah safely delivers a daughter  and Fred proves himself an excellent babysitter.  When noone else can calm her colicky cries Fred would bounce Megan on his knee and sing 'Pop goes the weasel' til she fell asleep on his lap.
Then one October day....
'Sarah saw the checked cap laying where it had been thrown on impact before she saw him. He laid in a crumpled heap his body now as broken as his mind, the pink blanket May had knitted was laying over him and his hand was outstretched as if even in death he had tried to pull the buggy back. Sarahs heart stopped for a moment ,'Where was her daughter', 'Megan'  she screamed.

week 3 Sheila

Week 3

The story starts at the age of 13, Laura has been the victim of repeated physical and emotional abuse by a violent and aggressive mother from a young age.  She has never known any different.  Her father is there but does not get involved.  Laura is taken into care just before her 14^th birthday, after a violent incident was witnessed by another parent, then she finds out that her father is also involved in having her put into care, so that he can leave her mother, who is mentally unstable.  Laura is distressed, unhappy and lost throughout this period. 

After being taken to a children’s home she, at first, finds it is in fact better than living at home, but is later approached by one of the male staff.  When she eventually reports this she is  bullied into retracting her accusation, and ends  up being transferred to a foster home.

There she is happy, and makes friends.   She loves school, and stays at school to get o levels. She is not allowed to follow the career she wanted due to restrictions by the council, but does get a job she enjoys, and goes to evening classes.  Life expands, but in back of her mind all the time is the knowledge that at 17 she will no longer be in care.  Her mother will expect her to go home.  She said so the last time she saw her.  She said she was decorating a room for her. This terrifies Laura, who knows she is still not brave enough to stand up to her mother.

After her mother dies suddenly, her life changes again.  Her father shows his uncaring nature yet again.  She grows up shy, anxious and lacking in confidence.  She sees her father occasionally, but they are not close. He gives her away at her wedding.

Laura meets a man, and marries him after a 6 month courtship.  The marriage is good at first, but deteriorates slowly, then she divorces and meets the man she really needed all along.   Her childhood problems affect her throughout her life.

Eventually, as she reaches middle age, Laura begins to understand her mother’s mental health problems, and possible causes.  However she never really forgives her father.

Sue: Week 3. New synposis. Still on theme!

Skimpily dressed, spinning on a wheel and about to have knives thrown at her; Charlotte has a few remaining seconds to reconsider her actions. Trepidation is overwhelmingly replaced by a surge of pure joy.

Charlotte is a practicing dentist, married to a teacher. Her husband, family and friends value her as sensible, reliable and dependable but joke about her need to create  “To do“ lists for everything.  She dresses conservatively and has hardly changed her look over the years.

There is no light bulb moment to mark her extraordinary transition from the white coat, sterilised workplace, to her current setting of sequinned leotard and circus big top. It happens gradually, step by step. More remarkably, she finds a way to dovetail her double life.

Her husband, reluctantly, enters into this new world.  In some ways, his is a bigger metamorphosis. He abandons his cautious, by the book curriculum teaching, to combine the roles of ringmaster and of travelling circus, schools educator. His life transforms from one of daily dread of his pupils, to one that fulfils his desire to do something meaningful, with a resonating impact upon those he teaches.

As they invent and improvise a new paradigm for themselves, they face ridicule, admiration, envy, horror and doubt.  To keep their new double-lives in balance, they must juggle life on the road, life with a mortgage and the incomprehension of each community with which they wish to mingle.

The knives are literally out.  Each community want the couple to conform to and whole-heartedly adopt their own very different values.  All are convinced that eventually, an either or choice will have to be made. Many have compelling personal needs for their own lifestyle choices to be validated by this couple.

If anyone has ever fantasised about running away to join the circus, or of combining a sensible life with a long held desire to break the mould, this is a novel that shows how it could be done.

Hilary - Synopsis of the novel.

Working Title - Human Glue.

The narrative explores two generations of a family and how a chance occurrence during the life of the main protagonist sets in motion events which are inexorably linked to her future happiness and that of her family.

The story is narrated from the perspective of Ellen 50 years old  and a mother of three children, Anna, Carrie  and Sadie.

Ellen had  lived a difficult life with her own parents having been abandoned at the age of 4. Her  mother Evelyn a Nursing sister who had suffered abuse at the hands of her father Edward a former postman now a wealthy self made man who had made his fortune from property restoration. He finally left Evelyn for another partner and refused to see the child. The shame and humiliation in the 1960’s  that this event caused led to Evelyn suffering a complete mental breakdown. She was eventually sectioned at the age of 36, just 4 years after Ellen's birth. Spending her formative years in a home for abandoned children seems to have set up the future pathway for Ellen as from this point, she seems never to be able to have a healthy or fulfilling relationship with anyone.

After a number of failed attempts to discover real love with a variety of men throughout the early years of her adulthood, Ellen finds something she identifies as love with James.  Her relationship with her husband is not fulfilling due to her inability to truly commit and although he loves her and enjoys the love of his children, he is driven away by her coldness both to him, and her bitterness and cruelty to their children.He fights for the custody of the children, but this is awarded to Ellen who is adept from many years of practice, in lying to the judge. 

Ellen is unable to sustain any proper relationship with her children and her frustration with her own inability to connect leads to years of mental abuse of all three children. One such occasion has tragic consequences resulting in the attempted suicide of her youngest child Carrie at the age of 16.

This leads to a further unravelling of the loyalty the children have shown their mother. Is there a way back for Ellen and her daughters?

Peter's synopsis-Week 3

The year is l94l .  Deep in the wilds of Rutland stands the decaying grey-stone Georgian mansion of Bolmwood .   Wheelchair-bound Regina Beresford Batson lives a reclusive life there with her only daughter Thelma and the recalcitrant labourer Rickson .  Regina is an imperious, dominating matron who believes she is last in the line of the distinguished Beresford Batsons .   Her daughter Thelma is tall, dark and thin .  A pathetic creature, entirely at the beck and call of her mother .  Rickson a thickset, burly energetic man of fifty-five is Regina’s lover and responsible for the accident that led to her being confined to a wheelchair. .  Thelma is his daughter by another woman.

Juliette is Regina’s long lost niece .   Her father had long been estranged from his sister Regina .   She and her seven-year-old son Gabriel survived the bombing in London that wiped out the rest of the family .   One dark gloomy day they arrive at the door of Bolmwood, evacuees from the Blitz.

************

Regina and Rickson are shocked by their arrival .   Rickson has ambitions for Thelma to inherit the estate .  Steps are taken to undermine Juliette and Gabriel and drive them away .   Housed in the coldest , draughtiest parts of the house, Gabriel falls sick .   Juliette spiritedly  demands and gets better quarters .   The incumbents  invent a new strategy: a ghost to frighten the young nervous Gabriel .  Rickson get involved in ghostly tactics exploiting lonely corridors .   Thelma is induced to lead Gabriel whom she has befriended into danger on the parkland lake .  He is saved by the intervention of Jason, a young farmer.

When a struggling damaged Luftwaffe plane crashes into a wing of the house, nobody is killed but in clearing up the debris Juliette comes upon a love letter from Rickson to Regina that reveals Thelma is not her daughter .  Regina recognizes Juliette’s knowledge after a slip of the tongue by young Gabriel .  Rickson in a last throw of the dice plans a campaign to poison her and her son after imprisoning them in a cellar of the house .   By mischance, the feeble-minded Thelma eats poisoned food .   Jason comes to the rescue of the captives.

*************

Throughout there is a power struggle between the tyrant Regina and her courageous niece as events unfold .  Regina’s weakness is her passionate and enduring love for Rickson for whom she shows uncharacteristic affection which he exploits ruthlessly .  His overriding concern is for his daughter Thelma, who was the love-child of a partner who died tragically and he can never forget .  Juliette too, falls in love with the young energetic Jason who crosses swords with Rickson in his attempts to contact the imprisoned Juliette and Gabrielle after the air crash .  Gabriel is a sensitive boy who builds up a friendship with Thelma, who treacherously destroys that trust under the overwhelming instigations of Regina, and tries to frighten and injure the child.

. 

Julie : Novel synopsis

A woman is writing her life story. 

She leaves school at 16 and falls in love, then, due to a misunderstanding, leaves the boy. She discovers she was adopted and the woman who has brought her up is actually her aunt, father unknown. She is fond of her step-father, but he works away from home a lot. She is close to her brother (who is now revealed to be her cousin) and to her grandmother, who is the only living family member whose relationship to her is unchanged. Grandmother shows her unopened letters and cards sent to her from her natural mother, who is estranged from the family.

Our heroine goes away to college and becomes a journalist. She throws herself into her work because of her disappointment with her first boyfriend and her belief that he let her down. She uncovers a scandal involving an MP which makes the news headlines. The revelations result in a high profile court case at which she has to give evidence. She is threatened that if she tells the truth her life will be endangered. She does not reveal everything she knows and the MP gets off. She turns to her family but they cannot help. She tries to find her real mother without success.

Her brother/cousin marries a single mother, which leads to our heroine meeting up with her first love again. The misunderstanding between them is resolved. They realise they are still in love with each other and they marry and have a child.

Whilst the woman’s life story is unfolding, it is interspersed with diary entries from what is happening in the present. She is attending another trial involving the MP, which again prompts fears for her safety, and for that of her family. She finally tracks down her natural mother and discovers the truth about her real father. She is given a vital piece of information which ensures her safety and a successful outcome to the trial.

©  Julie Fielder, 17 October 2010

Tony: A Birthday

The time for my fifth birthday had come, and the little school, in the house three doors up the road from ours, would celebrate the occasion appropriately.  My mother would prepare a special birthday tea for us all, and Mrs Baker, the sole teacher and general overseer of the school, would lead the procession of children along the pavement to the gate of our house, where my mother would be looking out of the window, in readiness to receive us.  What were my feelings on that day?  Pride, dread, or sheer inquisitiveness as to the presents my mother would prepare?

It was late morning, no doubt a cold morning in December, at that very early stage in life when birthdays were still a novelty.  The children would be bulging with thick winter coats, some perhaps wearing gloves and scarves.  Mrs Baker marshalled us into procession in front of her sedate front door.  Simon, the senior pupil at all of six years, was entrusted with a small package, an offering of thanks to my mother for her hospitality.  Once through Mrs Baker’s ornate front gate, a festive sense of expectation began to infect the small but lively group – voices subdued at Mrs Baker’s warning words, yet still lively, as the party procession advanced, eyes turning and gazing at the windows of the other houses along the road, where a curtain might be turned as a curious neighbour inspected this unusual but agreeable movement of eager faces along the pavement, aware that someone was being honoured with a visit.

My mother’s friendly face, attentive, expectant, was ready at the door, and amid clouds of winter breath she advanced to receive Simon’s special  offering, and to invite the little throng into our hall.  Once inside, that risky moment ensued when the formality of the occasion might disintegrate, with a medley of children taking off coats and losing all formation in their eagerness to move forward to the birthday feast.  Mrs Baker, however, stilled the hubbub with one of her brief but stern commands, and my mother ushered us into the front room.  Here was a scene new even to myself – balloons lolling at the feet of armchairs, and bright decorations and paper parcels set ready for games.

Now, at last, the party food appeared.  What can be remembered?  A circle formed, a circle of laps, on which objects were placed precariously: sausages on sticks, and, of course, jelly!  Coloured straws, orange juice in paper cups, candles and a birthday cake.  A wish, and a blow of breath at the little flames.  What did I wish for, what future did I crave?  Then, when the food was cleared, the circle of laps prepared for “pass the parcel”.  This was cause enough for commotion and suspense, yet hardly had the package started its travels when the cry went up: “Brian’s wet his knickers!!”  It was surprising, to be fair, that bodily functions had kept themselves in check for so long.  The body, that most fearful and unpredictable thing to a child: cause of accidents, shame and loud voices.

Yet all was not lost.  Always, at first, the fear of sharp words.  Today, though, the adults were kind.  A brief look of impatience, a raise of eyebrows, the mustering of resources and, inevitably – a command!  Brian, red-faced and with pursed lips, was soon on his feet, and led by my mother hand-in-hand to a place of refuge, whilst the parcel, unharmed and still unwrapped, resumed its way.

Sue: Week 2. Birthday, Russian Cruise

I was not quite sure whether I was celebrating or mourning the end of the end of my thirties.  Either way, this was the night before the “big one” and I was reluctant for it to end, denial was my first step towards acceptance of my inevitable lot.

Stretching out my last evening proved easy, we were on the cusp of Russian white nights, when the sun never goes down. There was little to distinguish the night of perpetual dusk as it blended into dawn.  Simultaneously, the ship slowed to break her way through ice floes, compounding my sense of a suspension of time and motion. Fellow passengers, for different reasons, took delight in this new world.  I was not alone in my wish for time to stop. We viewed vast expanses of ash and pine that ended at the edge of the frozen water.  The forest backdrop, white light and smoke from the scattered wooden cabins, combined to create a filter of clouds and mist, adding to our sense of being spectators of an ethereal otherworld.  

Inside the ship, all was warm, bright and luxurious; sundowners legitimately flowed into the early hours, above or below deck. Whilst temporary, this was our “home”, a cocooned world that indulged our every whim and which we inhabited with ease although it was as far from our everyday reality as the scenery outside. As time went by, the remaining hard core took turns to select singles from the jukebox in the bar, indulge in some bad dancing and bond further over rather too many drinks.

I staggered back to my cabin in the early hours, fuzzily happy and no longer worrying about the impending birthday milestone.

Perhaps I should have paid more attention to the accompanying sounds of cracks in the ice.

I awoke to the anticipated realisation that this was my 40^th birthday and the start of my new identity as “middle-aged”.  As I lay in bed in the darkened cabin, it felt like any other day. I mentally checked for signs of a mid life crisis. Verdict, a slight hangover, no sense of lost youth or impending death; no immediate urges to re-evaluate my life, change habits, get fit, resign, or buy a sports car. Feeling somewhat smug, I shifted my thoughts to the day’s itinerary, present opening and the champagne the Captain had promised for anyone with a birthday or anniversary. Eager to get up and enjoy my day, I reached for the bedside light.  My day changed with that flick of a switch.

The light stabbed a million sharp shards of hot glass into my eye, whilst simultaneously providing a knock out punch that throbbed around my head. This was more than a slight hangover. I shut my eyes but the light did not seem to lessen and the acute pain persisted. Whilst groping towards the light switch to shut out the pain, the mental light switch came on; I knew what I was experiencing.

The last time this happened, was during a period of my life that I subsequently tried to erase.

Peter: Birthday in Dubrovnik

As we waded through the stinking sewers of Dubrovnik, I thought with disgust.  “What a place to end  your birthday.  Bitterly regretted my folly, my vanity for allowing that stupid  bitch Natasha to coax me into a glimpse of  the stolen sparkler.  ‘Only a peep,’ she purred,  sipping at her her sixth glass of pink champagne, as we celebrated in the Stradum Café. Heady with slivovitz, like a fool I gave in.  Next moment she snatched at it and sped away.    Silly bitch,  slipped on the wet  curb.  The diamond jumped from her hand,  bounced onto the road and slipped down the manhole.   I was in dead trouble.  In fact if I didn’t find it tonight,  I would soon be dead. 

Now here I was, splashing about in sewage up to my knees with man who was as old as the  hills,   Yussef  Mahmoud.  His  white fez covering a bald head, he was agitatedly rubbing his grey  moustache as he led me through endless tunnels.  His ancient lantern swinging  in his bony left  hand casting a sour glow on the streaming wet walls. A sheep drover in Australia in his youth, he had sworn to me  in a Montenegrin/Australian accent, he knew the sewers  “like the baack of mi haand”.    It had cost me  a fortune to hire him.

Eventually at a junction of several conduits he paused.   A rat swam by.  Water dripped onto my face.   “ We below  the  Stradum, mister,”  he said with a laboured smile .Stretching his scrawny neck, he peered up at a manhole in a dark couloir.   “This is weeel bee the plaaace..” I stared down at the thick  brown, soupy water,  winced then plunged my hand in forcing  myself to feel methodically  along the slimy  bottom.  Working side by side, we slowly advanced.  Nothing but a few rusty nails, bits of broken glass and crushed tin cans.  Yussef gestured going forward beyond the couloir.   My hand suddenly  felt something large and  solid, fingers working carefully  around the shape  - a boot?.   “It’s a foot!  A foot!  I gasped

A couple of points from Gary

Dear all,
Thanks for contributing to this blog - I think it's beginning to look interesting. I wanted to mention a couple of things for everyone to read:
1) If you can't make a session or want to contact me, my email address is gdexter@ntlworld.com
2) When you post your assignment, please consider commenting on what the other class members have written - this is an important part of developing your own critical faculties and makes everyone feel they are not addressing a vaccuum!
3) Just to reiterate, the term dates are: the last session this term is the 21st October. After a break of two weeks we resume on the 4th November, and carry on to the 9th December, which is the last session of the year. We resume on the 6th January 2011.
See you on Thursday in the theatre,
Gary

Hilary Week 2 - Birthday

My dad left home on my 13th birthday and never came back. One minute he was waving goodbye and the next, he was gone. It was an odd day altogether.

Dad had taken our neighbour,Bert Campling, to the local hospital in the early hours of my birthday morning after Bert had been found staggering home the night before with a bottle of Famous Grouse in one hand and a peculiar looking green growth on the other.

Bert was reknowned in the village as a purveyor of stories. He kept the local pub regulars enthralled with tales of strange encounters with alien beings who scooped him up in their wonderful craft, peformed acts of unbelieveable weirdness upon him before  depositing him back upon earth, usually outside the Green Man, where he would be found sprawled amongst the empties by my father. Doctor Rales at the cottage hospital had never seen anything resembling the fungal mass which had been removed from Bert's hand and had sent a sample to the county hospital for analysis.
Villagers in the main were understandably sceptical about Berts' mutterings, but on the morning he was taken to hospital there was an air of trepidation permeating even the most disbelieving of the residents.

Fear had descended over the village like a fog, after a family of travellers disappeared the same night complete with their pony and three dogs.There had been  rumours circulating for days, about strange lights appearing over the Common.
On the day of my birthday, Mum had arranged a big party to celebrate my entrance into the 'Teen Age'.
Dad had scooped me up, twirled me round and planted a kiss on my cheek before he got in the car to pick up three of my schoolfriends. As he drove away from the house, I remember him brushing at a small green mark which had appeared on his arm. I had noticed it when he kissed me. I had laughed and told him he must have caught the 'Lurgy' from Bert. I stood at the window watching the bright yellow Hillman Hunter with its black roof, disappear over the hill and saw a pure, the purest, white light on the horizon. Then he was gone.

Julie : Birthday/Accident (week 2)

‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine,’ Tom insisted, settling himself on a wooden bench outside the pound shop. His frayed jeans had seen better days, and his jumper seemed to consist of more holes than wool, with a few unidentified stains thrown in for good measure. Jane wavered, uncertain, then kissed the top of his tousled hair.

‘OK, love, I won’t be long.’ She turned and walked away towards the main shopping precinct, looking briefly over her shoulder at her husband. He gave her an encouraging wave, lowered his hand and began absent-mindedly stroking their ancient collie’s ears. Patch, who was sitting, as usual, at Tom’s feet, had found the morning’s exertions almost as much of a strain as Tom had.

Tom’s fiftieth birthday had been going so well, Jane thought ruefully. They had spent a pleasant morning walking the steep cobbled streets of Lincoln in the late October sunshine. They had explored the ancient cathedral and climbed the castle tower, which had given them an unrivalled view of the city spread out before them. It was when they had almost finished their descent that Tom’s angina attack had begun. He had clutched his chest, struggling to breathe, and Jane had helped him to a chair outside the café. He had taken his tablets and, after a while, they had walked slowly down the hill to the shopping precinct. Old Patch had followed, stiff-legged, the need for a lead necessitated by convention rather than any likelihood that he might run away.

Jane now found herself reluctantly exploring a couple of shops. then, concern for Tom’s welfare getting the better of her, decided to turn back. The sound of an ambulance froze her for an instant, then she was running, past HMV and Boots, dodging in and out of the crowds of weary shoppers, racing back to where she had left Tom. Quickly she took in the scene before her. The bench was empty and a crowd had gathered in the road. As the ambulance screeched to a halt, Jane struggled to reach the centre of the throng. Her heart beat like a drum in her chest, ‘Why did I leave him alone?’ she asked herself. At the very moment she saw a young man sitting in the road, clutching his arm, she heard the welcome voice of Tom calling her name. Relief flooding through her, she headed for the direction of his call.  

Jane hugged Tom tightly. ‘I was really worried when I heard the ambulance,’ she began, stifling a sob, ‘I thought it was for you.’

‘I told you I was fine,’ Tom replied. ‘That lad must have been shop-lifting. A security guard chased him out of the pound shop and he ran straight into the path of a car. He seems OK, though, broken collar bone, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘When I saw the bench was empty I thought you’d got worse,’ she sniffed.

‘I decided I should move off the bench after two people came up and offered me money to buy food for my dog. They must have thought I was homeless!’

Jane laughed, grateful as always for Tom’s ability to cheer her up. ‘Well, you do look a bit scruffy. Perhaps we should go and buy you some new clothes for your birthday.’

Second week - Sheila

On my 18th birthday I walked down the aisle of the church in which I was christened, to marry the man I loved.  However it did not all go as it should have.   After a wonderful ceremony, we adjourned to the reception, wich my father had arranged rather reluctantly, and as became obvious, as cheaply as possible.

He had arranged for the alcohol to be on sale or return and wouldn't let anyone open another bottle of anything, if the previous bottle was not empty.  I later found he had only allowed £3 per head for food.   I was too happy to care for a while, but eventually became rather annoyed with him as he continued to display his penny-pinching attitude throughout the reception.  My husband urged me to ignore it, and I did try, but finally lost my temper when I found him hiding the full bottles so no one could drink them.

Of all places to hide them, he chose the piano.   I got them back out and passed the bottles of wine round the table, much to his dismay.  After  while, the wine had it's effect and we all got a lot more cheerful.  The band, another budget item, only had 3 members, but we were happy enough not to care about that, and finally we began to enjoy our reception.   I did not know that the best man had left to buy more wine, to add to the rather small number of bottles already supplied. 

We finally came to the end of the party, and got ready to leave.  We were not having a honeymoon, but spending the weekend in London.  As I returned to the reception, having changed into my "going away" outfit, I saw my father taking another four bottles of alcohol, whisky apparently, which had not even seen the light of day, out of a cupboard in the hall.  I was so angry with him, I took one of them from him, and threw it across the hall.  When he tried to stop me, he slipped, fell on a spilled drink, and landed on the floor.  It was extremely funny at the time, but we all quickly sobered up when he didn't get up at once.  He could not stand, and we had to call an ambulance.  After an X ray we heard he had broken his ankle.   At the time I was not very sympathetic, and regarded it as poetic justice.

He went to the hospital, where they kept him until the next morning.  We stayed in a local hotel for the night and went to London the next day.   It was too late to return the drinks to the off license and he never did get his money back. 

Tony: First Sentence

Grey, wide skies.  The weight of winter long laid down, all expectations, all possibilities, at an end.

An elderly man, who knows he is nearing the end of his life, reflects on his past, and particularly on his marriage, which is now in its fifty-third year.

Margaret: First Sentence

As the overcrowded train pulled into the station, Sharon looked around and wondered what her new life would hold in store for her.

A story of girl going out into the world, her adventures, and the stories of the people she meets.

Sue: First sentence options.

“Don’t think, don’t hope” was the mantra Sarah used to muster the few aspects of her life that had not already disintegrated. 

or

I had many alternative lives I could have lived but this is the one I ended up with.

A turning points, sliding doors type novel that explores the “what ifs”, had different life decisions been made at the time by key protagonists.

Sheila: First Sentence

Diana gripped the handlebars tightly  and felt the wind tearing through her long blonde hair, as her legs turned the pedals faster and faster.  

It is a growing up family story about a young girl in the 60's and 70's, how she becomes an adult and  her life.

Hilary - synopsis

The story follows the journey of four family members through an event which has a profound effect on their future lives. It is told from the perspective of one of these individuals.

Hilary: First sentence

The shadows cast a gloomy lour over the bay and the hills beyond. She stood motionless watching the metamorphosis from summer stillness and glorious colour to the dark green dampness of dusk.

Julie : First Sentence

‘School’s out for E-VER,’ sang the voice of one of the O’level English candidates as the large doors to Fircombe Grammar School gymnasium, which also served as an examination hall, were pushed open. 

The structure of the novel takes the form of a 'story within a story'.  The main character is writing a diary in the first person in the present, excerpts from which are interspersed with the story of her early years, written in the third person.  As the novel progresses, it becomes clear how events from her early years have resulted in the current situation in which she finds herself.

Peter: First Sentence.

Tom  sat  on  the  top  of  the  iceberg,  his  legs  dangling  down,  Nechoska  the  polar  bear  was  lying  at  his  side.