Sit and watch the rainbeams dance for joy
Gurgling giggling jumping on their way
Let your heart within you hope employ

Staid so many of us are and oh so coy
Putting rules around our every day
Sit and watch the rainbeams dance for joy

Let not sour convention glee destroy
Let your laughter with your child’s mind play
Let your heart within you hope employ

Many things are sent us to annoy
Days that turn from brightness into grey
Sit and watch the rainbeams dance for joy

Let your mind go free fresh air enjoy
Nothing here can force you now to stay
Let your heart within you hope employ

Dance on softest moonbeams do not toy
With light that sings and sighs darkness away
Sit and watch the rainbeams dance for joy
Let your heart within you hope employ

Fandango’s Friday Flashback

Fandango’s Friday Flashback — January 31

fandango invites us to post something that we posted on this date exactly a year ago. Here is mine:


I came across a scream one day
A’lying on the ground
I wondered where it had come from
Where could it’s home be found

I looked at it and saw it’s face
It was so full of pain
Contorted, writhing, pride all gone
I thought it was a game

“What are you doing here?” I said
It couldn’t answer me
It cried and groaned so terribly
Then silence fell on me

How could a scream be so bereft
It really should be heard
It’s loneliness did tear my heart
I couldn’t find a word

Some people came and looked at it
Said “What the hell is that?”
They stood and stared with open mouths
And then they went so flat

The scream jumped up and shocked them all
Oh what a pitiful sight
It found a mouth to be its home
It gave it such a fright

It rolled around in its new home
The owner filled with pain
She gasped and cried “Oh help me please
This scream I can’t contain

It must come out for all to hear
I have to let it go”
She opened wide her mouth right then
And tears began to flow

So let your scream come out my child
Don’t hold it deep within
Open your mouth and let it go
And live within your skin

#FOWC. Conspiracy. A Falling Out

FOWC with Fandango — Conspiracy

Jenny saw Cynthia out and returned to the living room after locking and bolting the front door firmly. She sensed that sleep was not going to come easily tonight. Pouring herself another glass of wine she looked idly at the book she had been given by Hugh. As she looked something fell out of it. It was a postcard on which was written the words,

“Don’t talk. It might be yours soon.”

Jenny’s hands began to shake. Who had written these words? What did they mean? What might be hers soon?

She suddenly realised that the book she was holding in her hand was about a funeral, albeit God’s! What was going on? Was this a conspiracy? So many strange things had happened to her of late. She started to try to put them all together in her head. She still could not understand why George and Jill had wanted to take her down to see their son with them, but not only that, why were they going to stop on the way and buy her clothes?

Jenny thought back to that Boxing Day night when George had put his hand on her shoulders and pushed her into the living room, after taking her car keys off her and placing then in a drawer. Hugh had been there then, albeit constipated and not feeling too well according to Jill. In fact, if she thought about it, Hugh had been around a lot, if only fleetingly, rather like a ghostly figure that appears and disappears. Jenny thought about the fact that Sarah had said something very upsetting to her that night after Evening Prayer, which caused her to need comforting, and she wondered now if that had been planned and done on purpose to make sure that Jenny put up no resistance to going into the vicarage. It was the next day when George and Jill had wanted her to go with them in the car to visit their son. “Of COURSE,” exploded Jenny, though there was no one there to hear her. She had an eerie feeling that had she gone with them she would never have arrived at their son’s with them, and would never have been seen again, except maybe as a body in a wood or something.

Suddenly it made sense as to why Hugh had been wearing gloves. He had reckoned without Jenny having company, it being a well known fact that Jenny’s husband was out of the country on business, and had expected to be invited in. Jenny shuddered.

What to do now? In the morning she must contact Cynthia.


I took my last photo down because I felt so embarrassed after I had posted it LOL. But here is another one taken at the same time but on this one I am actually smiling. I still think it might break your computer screens so I suppose I really ought to have been insured before I posted it.   I am not much of a one for photos of myself lol



#FOWC. STRANGE. God’s Funeral.


FOWC with Fandango — Strange

Both women started as they heard the knock at the door and Cynthia looked quizzically at Jenny.

“Expecting anyone?” she inquired.

“No,” said Jenny. Hardly anyone ever knocks at my door, unless it’s the postman and it’s not likely to be him at this time of night!”

“You’d better answer it,” Cynthia said. At least I’m here so you’re not alone.

Jenny made her way nervously to the door. She opened it hesitantly, and was surprised to see Hugh standing there. He looked rather STRANGE and almost ghostly as the street light fell onto his face. He had in his hands a book, and Jenny noticed that he had gloves on.

“Jill asked me to call,” he explained. “I’ve been into Manchester to meet an old journalist friend, and as your house was on the way back she asked me to call off and give you your book back. She found it on the bedside cabinet in your room.”

Jenny looked at the book in his hands, and saw immediately that it was “God’s Funeral,” a book that George had suggested she might like to read, and he had purchased a copy for her. It was a book that was all the rage in theological circles, but Jenny had never quite been able to get into it. Alluring though the title was, once inside the book it was quite wordy and boring.

“How did you know where I live?” asked Jenny.

“Well Jill told me,” he said. “Don’t you remember her asking you to bring her here one day?”

Jenny thought for a moment, and did remember that Jill had indeed asked her to bring her to her house one day. She’d wanted to have a look at the garden, or at least that was what she’d said. Jenny remembered how nervous Jill had been in the car, saying that she didn’t really like anyone but George driving her, as he knew to be very steady. It had seemed a bit odd to Jenny at the time because she had been with a group from the church out for a meal one evening, and on the way home Jill had admonished George for driving too fast.

“George,” she’d said. Slow down. I’m losing my pudding.”

Jill had not really understood why Jill wanted to come to her house at all. It was a very modest one, by the vicarage standard, and even the garden was not that interesting. But there had been a bit of washing up still left to do, and Jill, in her usual domestic mode, had swiftly gone into action and washed the pots.

“Well thankyou,” said Jenny, putting her hand out to take the book. “I’m sorry I can’t invite you in, but I’ve got company.”

Hugh leered a little bit as he began to move away from the door, and Jill felt a shiver go down her spine. Hugh had really taken on a quite sinister look. She was glad to see him get into his car and leave.

Upon returning to the living room, Cynthia, having heard everything, remarked, “That was a bit of a turn up. I wonder why he really came? Leaving a book behind is really a small matter.”

“Yes, I thought it odd,” said Jenny. “And what was more odd was that he had gloves on. And it isn’t really that cold a night.”

“Hmmm,” said Cynthia. “He would do anything for Jill you know. “Even murder.”

Jenny began to shake a little.

“We’ll meet and talk again very soon,” said Cynthia. Just lie low for a while, and don’t answer the door to anyone. I’m going to go back and do a bit of research. I don’t like this.”

With that, Cynthia went, leaving Jenny with “God’s Funeral” in her hands.


I cry in grief,
For all that I have lost,
I cannot see, I cannot walk,
How can
I sing?
In this strangest of all dark lands,
How can I sing Your song?
My Babylon
Holds me.

I hear
The water play
Sweet music in my ears,
I rest, and bathe my soul, refreshed
I rise,
I know
That I am not alone, you call,
In nature’s purest song,
I raise my voice
And sing.

#FOWC. ALLEGORY. A Knock At The Door

FOWC with Fandango — Allegory


Jenny disappeared off into the kitchen, and returned carrying some cream buns.

“Thought we might treat ourselves to these,” she said to Cynthia.

Cynthia made some approving noises. Never one to give a cream bun a miss, she attacked it with gusto.

“So Sarah made quite a few enemies then,” remarked Jenny.

“I suppose you could say that,” said Cynthia. “She certainly wasn’t popular. Once gave a talk at the church on “The Bible as ALLEGORY” and caused quite a stir. The one thing you could say about her was that she knew her theology. She had a doctorate you know, and had written a book prior to coming here. Liked to air her knowledge and it didn’t go down too well in a small town like that. But him and her were as thick as thieves. Oh he knew all her weaknesses alright, but he had his own too, and he needed the relationship with her just as much as she needed it with him. She had him tied round her little finger, but on the other hand she worshipped him like he was some kind of God. They both played each other’s weaknesses for all they were worth. And all would have been well had not Jill started to play up. I’ve often wondered whether it was him who caused her depression or her who caused him problems with her depression. She’d certainly had it from soon after they got married by all accounts. He used to boast that it was him who “helped” her with her depression, but I’ve wondered many times whether in fact he was “moulding” her and making her submissive. She was very rich you know. Inherited the family business, and was virtually a millionairess. He claimed to have married her for love, but He always had a weakness for money. Having been brought up by parents who squandered all their money, and having to have the bailiffs come in, he knew what it was to have everything taken away from him. He vowed never to be in that position again, and money always attracted him. Jill, on the other hand, only ever wanted a husband. She’s been known to say that that was the only reason she went to Oxford. To find herself a husband. Intelligent though she undoubtedly was, it was domesticity that she was after. Maybe she saw some kind of safety in that, for her own background had been rather tumultuous.”

All of this made sense to Jenny. She had heard many of these things in her time at the vicarage. It was all beginning to gel a bit more now. But who bore such a grudge towards Sarah that they would actually murder her? And where did Hugh fit into the picture? He was sweet on Jill and had been for many years. George knew full well about this but had turned a blind eye to it. It left him free to do what he wanted to do. But why did Hugh make a play for Sarah when he had the attentions of Jill, who was insanely jealous of Sarah? Jenny thought back to the time when Jill had, for once felt some real emotion, and let it show by attacking the ice in the freezer with a large sharp knife, to such an extent that her whole body shook. It was about that time that Sarah had appeared at the vicarage dressed up to the nines, displaying herself to all who were present. This had antagonised Jill even more. It had not gone unnoticed by Hugh.

Cynthia, having demolished three cream buns by now, sat back in her chair, and reiterated her concern for Jenny.

“You did well to get out when you did. I always knew that you were in danger when you came to me wanting to change your name, and your reasons for wanting to do so did not quite add up. I had the feeling that it was not entirely your own idea. And George had a deep friendship with the Head of MI5 at one time. Just another of his more unusual escapades. What I do know is that everything was not quite right there. There was some funny business going on whereby people disappeared. And from what you have told me, George wanted to “disappear” you. Oh, all for the best of reasons of course, and it very nearly worked. But in the end you were too clever for him, and probably frightened out of your wits too, and it is my belief that you got out just in time.”

At that point there was a knock on the door.


This is a Repost but I went down Snowdeop Lane again and the snowdrops were beautiful.

I will walk down
Snowdrop lane, recalling
Times past when I walked the mountains
To heights
I had never scaled before, now
Is the hour to scale heights
Again, take me
To Snowdrop lane

#FOWC. SUBTLE. Jenny Meets Cynthia


FOWC with Fandango — Subtle

Jenny was looking forward to the meeting with Cynthia. At last she would be able to talk more freely with someone about the goings on at the vicarage and the things that had been worrying her. Jenny felt Cynthia to be an ally, in that she had warned her to be careful when George had sent her to Cynthia with a view to changing her name by Deed Poll. George had at that time alluded to a friend whom he used to have who could have provided her with a new identity as well, with new papers and everything that was involved in creating a new identity. He had, according to George, done this many times before for criminals. Jenny had shuddered at that, and wanted out, but something was holding her. Only upon looking back could she begin to see what had happened and that in some way George had mesmerised her such that her actions and her mind were not her own, but that she was acting in accordance with his will. She thought back to that night with the whisky and the water and realised that at that point George had in a SUBTLE way, begun to take over her mind. There were elements there of brainwashing and Jenny realised that George had been taking advantage of her vulnerable state at that time. She provided him with the perfect victim. And indeed she would have been but he had reckoned without her high level of intelligence. Something in the end had broken through in Jenny’s mind and alerted her to the danger that she was in. That, coupled with Cynthia’s warning, had enabled her to break free.

Jenny greeted Cynthia at the door with great warmth and enthusiasm. She was genuinely glad to see her although she did not really know her all that well, but she did sense that Cynthia would prove to be a good contact. The two women went into the living room and sat down to enjoy pizza that Jenny had prepared earlier and a glass of wine. They began to speak immediately of the murder of Sarah, George’s curate. Both of them had been shocked by this turn of events.

“What do you know about Sarah?” Jenny asked. “Her relationship with George always seemed very strange to me.”

“Well certainly they were very close, and she seemed unable to function without George. And of course the whole parish knew about what seemed to be a love affair between the two of them, but no one bothered much about it.”

“How long had she been here?” asked Jenny.

“Oh, a good few years,” replied Cynthia. “She came here from America and set up an embroidery shop in the town. Turns out she had lost somebody back in America just prior to that, and George was consoling her. It was him who was instrumental in getting her ordained in the end. But she could never quite hack it. Too frightened to do anything without him. And she wasn’t the most sensitive of people, and she upset quite a few along the way. But once she was ordained she and George could often be seen waiting outside the town court, looking for people to “help.” Seems they hadn’t got enough to do anyway, or at least what they were doing was boring and they needed something to spice things up abit. Still, she was good with the kids.”

Jenny thought back over her time at the vicarage, and indeed, Sarah had shown a great interest in the children. Always game for a party on the vicarage lawn. But one thing was obvious to Jenny. Sarah was seething with jealousy towards her, because of her relationship with George. She saw Jenny as a rival, and did everything possible to break the relationship up. Not only that though. Jill was full of resentment towards Sarah. Only Hugh appeared to be a real friend of Sarah’s and even that relationship was in its infancy. No one quite knew where it would go. But Hugh had a very unfortunate affliction, which showed itself one Christmas when Jenny was invited to join George and Jill in the living room for a drink. Hugh was sitting in a chair in a corner, and Jill announced,

“Hugh is spending a bit of time with us as he’s not been feeling very well.”

The affliction turned out to be constipation which nothing would shift, and plans were being made to ship Hugh off to the hospital if things did not improve.

“It’s a bastard,” said Hugh. “Plagued me all of my life.”


Voices clamour
Until my head jangles
Like a badly tuned orchestra
I saw
Once again men in black coats, move,
Stately, sombre, until
Life receded
Death reigned

Struck my raw heart
My soul taken up, black
Was this day, until red appeared
And then
I knew
That there is still life to be lived,
In the midst of which death
Interrupts, flows,
Calls us

Life caresses
My face, swollen, weeping,
Telling me that life will live on,
That’s what
It does, and death cannot conquer
That which lives for ever
Beyond the veil
So fine


The fog
Has gone, the dark
Has come, I walk, stumbling,
But find to stumble is to know
The joy
You hold
For me in the darkness, embrace
The darkness my dear friend
Better than light
It glows

In the darkness
Are the richest fine seeds
Let them grow, do not run away,
Love dwells
In dark
Let it embrace you now, fear not,
Step out of your safe boat,
And you will walk
The Deep



Some days just seem to sip the sunlight
Playing around the edges of the clouds
Like a promise that one day there will be light
Yet what would light be without the dark
Even clouds have their beauty
Creating a magical pattern in the sky
And a shining that surpasses all
What would pure brilliance be
Without the shades
So like the day
Let us sip the sunlight
And in the darkness wait in patience

#FOWC. Scarce. A Meeting Arranged

FOWC with Fandango — Scarce

Jenny decided to make herself SCARCE for a while. And that meant from everywhere. She needed time to think, and do a bit of her own research. Shocked though she was by the discovery of Sarah’s body in the river, and the way in which she had died, it was not yet time for her to go to the police. She felt keenly the huge burden of what she knew from having been an integral part of vicarage life for a while, and it certainly was not anything like what she had known before in her years in the Church, although she had to admit that she had known a few rogue vicars in her time, but never one as bad as this. Going to the police at the moment seemed out of the question to her, for she had no backup for the things she wanted to say, and without supporting evidence they would just laugh at her. And anyway, George was very well respected in the town, and had friends within the police. No, she needed to think, and probe things a little further. It seemed to her that Cynthia, the church solicitor might be a good place to start. She had, after all, warned her about the vicar, and invited her to go and talk to her if she wanted to. What did Cynthia know? Why did she warn her off the vicar?

Jenny dialled Cynthia’s office number and a Receptionist answered who promised that Cynthia would ring her back. It was not long before Jenny’s mobile rang, and Cynthia was speaking to her.

“What can I do for you Jenny?” she inquired.

“I’d like to talk to you if that is possible,” Jenny replied. “But it has to be somewhere we cannot be overheard and even possibly seen.”

“No problem,” said Cynthia. “How about I come to your house? You live a little way away, and no one is likely to spot me coming. I’m free this evening uf that’s O.K.”

Jenny accepted gratefully. She was glad that she would not have a long wait to see Cynthia. She had so many things going round in her mind and she felt that Cynthia would be an ally. This, she certainly needed at this moment in time. The knowledge that she had sounded too preposterous to be true, but she sensed that Cynthia knew some things too, and that she would not be surprised at anything she had to tell her. And what was more, she may be able to provide Jenny with some answers, although she would have to work within the bounds of Confidentiality.


To wake to the growing light
In the shadow of yesterday’s pain
Breathing fresher air
With hope for a clear day
Is a joy unknown to those
Whose path is bright
And as the new day comes to birth
So does my soul awake
Knowing well the treasures
Of the darkened path
And the potential for the redemption
Of each piercing pain
Though this path is hard
It cannot destroy the valiant soul
And one day we will wake
To an endless day
Where pain is no more
And tears do not ceaselessly flow
Where pure peace is our reward
O march on valiant souls
Your day will come


FOWC with Fandango — Wait

Jenny idly switched on the local evening news on the television. Suddenly she started. A woman’s body had been found floating in the nearby river. She had been badly beaten. The woman had been identified as Sarah, the curate.

Jenny felt the colour draining from her face as a knot of fear formed inside her. Her mind flew all over the place. She shuddered as she remembered all the things she had experienced over the past months. The vicar’s white anger towards her, and his account of hacking at the wilderness in the vicarage garden with a scythe. She remembered Jill telling her that this anger only erupted once in a blue moon, but she was used to it. But Jenny wasn’t used to it, and he had pointed his finger wikdly at her that day in the kitchen. She had thought he was actually going to hit her. She remembered the vicar asking her the question as to whether vicars were any the less called if they beat their wives.

Her mind turned to the murder that had taken place in the town many years previous, and the fact that he had lied, saying he had not moved to the town at that point. And she also remembered him telling her that Jill would make a good ally and that she would always cover up for him even in a crime. He said he knew that for a fact. This victim too was beaten before being thrown into the river.  There was just so much, and Jenny realised that, having been in such close a relationship with the vicar and his wife, she knew too much.

Sarah had lived in a house by the river. In fact it was actually on the river bank in the small market town. Hers wasn’t the only one. There were others too. There was a constant problem with flooding and Jenny often thought that it was not a place where she would want to live.

There was a bit of a mystery about Sarah. She was ordained, but had not moved on when she had completed her curacy, as would have been normal. In fact she had been frightened of being moved on. Her relationship with George, the vicar, was very close. Indeed, some would say intimate. The whole congregation seemed to know about it, but nobody seemed to bother much.  George had often been seen going to Sarah’s house towards midnight. Jill put up with it for a while, but then had a showdown with George, and so things had cooled down a bit. However, things were still simmering inside both George and Sarah. Sarah used every possible opportunity to be with George, but when Jenny had appeared on the scene, her jealousy had known no bounds. If she knew that George and Jenny had a meeting planned, she would try to interrupt it in some way, and get the attention onto herself. Jenny would start to seethe at this, knowing exactly what Sarah was trying to do.

Occasionally Sarah would appear at the vicarage, though she was not really welcomed by Jill. One lunch time she appeared all dressed up, which was not normal for her. Her make up was perfect, as was her long hair, though neatly put up into some kind of fancy bun arrangement. It had natural curl to it, and this gave some bounce and energy to what could have looked quite a severe style. Strands of curly sandy coloured hair fell attractively onto her face, and one could say that she was dressed to kill. Sarah had never been known for her attractiveness before, and indeed, she was not really liked in the church, but just tolerated. She had a penchant for upsetting people in various ways, but she was good with the kids.

Sarah had come from America originally, and prior to ordination she had run a successful embroidery shop in the town . It was George who had been instrumental in getting her ordained.

Of late, a friendship had been struck up between Hugh and Sarah. She had invited him to her home for a meal, and he had reported to George and Jill that it had gone really well. It had not escaped his notice that she was really quite pretty, and he remarked on this to George and Jill.

Jenny listened intently to the news item, and although her mind was racing with so many thoughts and memories, all she could do was WAIT.


I heard it from you
That understood
What no one else can
They are blinded by light
My light
Is in the darkness
Who looks
For light
In the darkness?
In the darkness
Light does not exist
Or does it?
Can darkness be light
My friend?
But here
In this place
You saw
In the darkness
That my body
Is a shell
Yes my friend
But in that emptiness
Is fullness



I lie here dressed only in my skin,
Stripped bare, inglorious, colourless,
Just like the tree,
All that once I knew,
All that once I displayed,
Gone for ever,
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust………
……….But wait,
Inside me the sap,
It rests,
In my roots,
Safe from the cold winds of winter,
Safe from the storms,
Waiting to rise up
When the storms have passed,
No, I am not dead,
Just waiting.

#FOWC. Ethnicity.Jenny is Reunited with her Bankbook.


FOWC with Fandango — Ethnicity

It was a great relief to Jenny to feel her bankbook and other items in her hands again. She did not know what she had been thinking of to allow him to take control of them but like all good deceivers he was able to provide a good reason and to make it look like a good thing.

There were so many ways in which Jenny had been deceived by this man and of course who questions a vicar? The vicar is normally presumed to be a good person, an honourable person and so no questions are asked. There were so many ways in which this man had brainwashed her into doing and thinking certain things. Added to this was the fact that Jenny had, at the beginning of all this, been very vulnerable. He had found her weak points, one being a lack of family, and proceeded to fill that gap in her life in order to put her off her guard so that he could get what he wanted. He had always been fascinated by German philosophy and indeed spoke fluent German himself. He had always wondered whether it was indeed possible to replace one reality with another as German philosophy suggested. When Jenny appeared on the scene it was almost too good to be true for him, for, despite the fact that she declared herself to be, and he perceived her to be, a strong individual, there was a certain weak point that he could use, and he liked a challenge. He was a man who liked to play around on the edges, and he enjoyed the element of risk and danger. As a vicar, his life could be very boring and Jenny provided him with the opportunity for the excitement which he craved. But now Jenny’s thinking had become much clearer, and she knew that she had to wrest her life back from him again. She realised, in fact, that she had been in great danger, and that to add to his excitement, he had involved his wife in his great plan. This had not been difficult to do for throughout the years he had in various ways made her submissive to him. It had been easy with her to because she suffered from depression. She was often drugged up and as she herself had said to Jenny,

“The drugs stop you from feeling too much emotion.“

In the first place George had been attracted to Jill because she too was studying German, and she too spoke the language fluently. They were both exceedingly interested in the diverse ethnicity of the German race and indeed had spent many holidays in Germany. But after their marriage, and as time had worn on, she too had become bored. Bored with being a vicar’s wife. Bored with going to church. Bored with all that eternal praying. And she had sought solace with Hugh, who went to see her every afternoon, entering the vicarage by the back door. He had led an exciting life as a journalist, and was able to entertain Jill with his many tales, some of them very racy. Jill was not complaining. It spiced her life up a bit.


Beetleypete very kindly directed me to a post on his Blog, about blindness.  It is here

iIt reminded me of this poem that I wrote a while ago, that I have posted before, but now have been prompted to post again.  It is in the form of a sestina.  I guess you couls substitute the word Love for God if you wanted to.

Pete’s post:

Thinking Aloud On the Wrong Day


My poem:

I see things in my memory’s eye
Like the birds that I hear singing,
For now I can only see shapes,
Colours merge into each other,
I see so clearly in my memory,
The birds that brought me life.

This dark world now is my life.
But the dark is only in my eye,
Light shines, in my memory,
My heart within is singing,@
I can say no other,
Pure light, my life shapes.

In my time I have seen so many shapes,
Some good, some bad, that determined my life,
Sometimes one, sometimes the other,
On the good I tried to focus my eye,
So that my heart could keep singing,
All these things live on in my memory.

I live now in my memory,
Things take on so many shapes,
Never can I stop singing,
Whatever happens in my life,
I see now with more than my eye,
Not with anything other.

There are so many things but nothing other
Than the light of God lives on in my memory,
It shines not only in my eye,
But into my depths, my life it shapes,
Such light brings to me eternal life,
Everything in me is singing.

Sometimes I hear the angels singing,
Louder than any other,
Bringing to birth in me new life,
That doesn’t live just in my memory,
This for me eternity shapes,
In my spirit, my only eye.

I am not reliant on my eye, but on something other
To keep me singing, but not in my memory,
Something greater my future shapes, giving me eternal life.

#FOWC. Profile. Jenny at the Vicarage.

FOWC with Fandango — Profile

Jenny was not normally an early riser, but today she had something very important to do. It would take about half an hour to drive down to the vicarage, and she needed to arrive at breakfast time. That way, Monica, the cleaner would just be starting work, and the vicar would not want to create a fuss when she asked for her bank book back. He had put it in the safe just off his study one day, having cajoled her into giving it to him. Jenny was not quite sure how he had got her so firmly under his spell, but she was certainly not under it any more. Her mind was working clearly now, and she had some very serious concerns about him.

Jenny felt her stomach rising into her throat as she drove down the main road to the vicarage, she was not relishing what she had to do, and having already had a taste of his white anger, she most certainly did not want to taste it again. Monica’s presence would, she hoped, protect her.

As she parked her car in the vicarage car park, Jenny could see his wife, Jill’s PROFILE through the kitchen window. Normally she would have let herself in with her key through the front door, but she decided, on this occasion, to enter through the back kitchen door.

Jill was sitting at the huge kitchen table eating her customary apple, and Monica was just getting out the little Henry vacuum cleaner. Both women just accepted Jenny as if she was part of the furniture.

“George will be back soon,” said Jill. “He’s just gone across to Morning Prayer.”

Jenny settled herself at the kitchen table, declining the offer of a cup of tea. She wanted this over and done with as soon as possible, and then she would leave this place and their lives for ever.

George duly arrived home about five minutes later. He showed no surprise at seeing Jenny sat there.

Monica was by now vacuuming the hallway.

“I’ve come for my bank book,” said Jenny. “And the other things that you put into your safe.”

“Why do you want those?” he asked. “You know we had a plan.”

“I’m sorry,” replied Jenny. “But something has come up, and I need those things now.”

George began to look a bit agitated, but at that moment Monica entered the kitchen, wanting to know if Jill wanted the upstairs vacuuming today.

“Come with me,” he said to Jenny, and walked off towards his study. Once in the study, he went close up to Jenny and with his face close to hers said,

“You know you are in love with me. And you know our plan. We just have to be patient for a little while.”

Jenny tried to move away from him, but he moved with her, and grabbed hold of her shoulders and swung her round to face him. At that moment Monica came in, having been instructed by Jill to vacuum the study. George jumped back, and went to the safe and got Jenny’s bank book and other things and handed them to her.


FOWC with Fandango — Clear

Jenny put her foot down on the accelerator as she drove up the hill and out of the town. She didn’t know why but she was afraid that somehow or other the vicar and his wife would appear behind her. A moment of fear made her shudder, and she had a sense of something in her head saying “Danger, danger.” Yet she had no idea why. There was nothing exactly that she could put a finger on, but it was just a sense that she had as she thought back over the happenings at the vicarage, and as she remembered the lie that he had told her about when he moved to the town where the murder had taken place all those years ago. There was also his extreme anger that seemed to show itself very rarely and yet when it did he was in a frenzy.  There was the fact that he had wanted her to change her name by Deed Poll, but there was a perfectly good reason for this – it was a way of shakung off her past and all the abuse she had known.   She had no idea at all, however, why they were going to stop on the way to see his son to buy her new clothes. She had perfectly good clothes at home.  Things just did not seem to add up to Jenny and yet in a strange way they did and she did not like the sense that was being made.

It was not long before she arrived home, but as she put her key in the door she realised that her bank book and various other important things were locked in the safe at the vicarage. She could quite easily have driven back down to the vicarage, but she would have been unable to access her bank book and other things, for they were locked in a drawer, and only the vicar had the key to the drawer. She began to feel quite panicky as she wondered how she could get these things back. Her mind did not feel very CLEAR at this moment, but within the space of half an hour she had got a plan together. She would go down there the next morning whilst they were having breakfast and demand her things back. That early in the morning she hoped that the vicar and his wife would not want to be causing a fuss as Monica, the cleaner, would just be beginning work for the day.

With that Jenny settled herself down with a cup of tea and began to relax, but within the space of about five minutes there was a knock at the front door. It was a man whom she had never seen before and he was asking her where Jim Taylor lived. Jenny said that she did not know, and the man gave  a very strange smile and seemed reluctant to leave. However, eventually he did and he got in his car which he had parked at the end of her drive, thus blocking Jenny’s exit from the house. She kept looking out of the window to see what he was doing and she felt slightly alarmed. Eventually after about 15 minutes he did drive off. For the rest of the day Jenny felt most uncomfortable, and did not relish the idea of going back to the vicarage in the morning.


I have just been shocked to read that they are closing down our Oncology Centre in our town.  I was treated here for my cancer.  Patients are now going to have to travel a long way for treatment.


I can hardly believe it. Whilst we are not a city, we are a largish town.  Our hospital is by no means small.  Is this a sign of things to come?  They cite shortage of staff as the reason.


There certainly WAS a shortage of staff when I was being treated, plus a shortage of essential equipment, making my own treatment difficult and more painful.


i feel very sad about this, but our NHS is in a mess!


i wrote this poem a long time ago.  Reposting it because I like it!


What is this thing called Time, that I am in?
Does it really go on for ever?
If there is eternity I don’t want it.

Time holds nothing but black……..birds weeping
Out their blackness until it fills
The space that is left

The black space grows, swallows up eternity
I don’t want eternity, not even to live
In this black pool

Black……birds sing
Do they?
Do you hear their song?
Or the cry of their black falling?

Black leaks
Falls into black, take back the night
I don’t want it. Continue reading “BLACK”


The madman came and put his axe to the tree
Hell bent on cutting out its sacred core
Demons gathered to watch the killing spree

The sap rose then on seeing the madman’s glee
The tree stood tall ready to go to war
The madman came and put his axe to the tree

Red berries glistened in its sturdy lee
Mesmerised the madman watched blood pour
Demons gathered to watch the killing spree

The madman believed that he was truly free
In spewing evil opening hell’s door
The madman came and put his axe to the tree

Holy innocence cried to One in Three
Blood and water cleansed the madman’s gore
The madman came and put his axe to the tree
Demons gathered to watch the killing spree


I have to say that today I am vulnerable. No one likes being vulnerable really, but grief has a way of making you raw, so that things that would not normally bother you can knock you for six.

We all have our own ways of coping with bad things in our lives, and they become our ropes to hang onto. We need those ropes, but when someone comes along and cuts that rope, you can no longer function. Today my rope was cut. I am having problems functioning now. In fact, even thinking is hard.

How do you find a new rope when yours has been cut? How do you stop yourself from falling into oblivion?

I just wish that grief did not make you so vulnerable. I just wish that grief did not make you hurt so much.


Did you manage to do it
To tear down my world
To shake my foundations
So now they are a heap of rubble
With words
How powerful are words
That eat into your psyche
Looking good
Sounding good
But deceptive
Destroying everything that you are
That gave you life
In the midst of death
And now
How to live again
Rising from rubble

Three Things Challenge.


Sally was the apple of his eye. She had been through a lot in her short life. But now, here they were in a blustery seaside town. At least it always seemed to be WET and blustery. Sundays were often spent jumping the waves that threw themselves furiously onto the promenade.

Sally could hardly believe that they were actually living in a seaside town. So different to what she had ever known before. They had never had much money and life had been precarious. But now they were here. The town was always full of POSTERS advertising the next show that was to come to the theatre. Sometimes it would be a famous singer or a group.

He was fascinated by it all. He had always been star struck, and wanted to go on the stage. Often, he would be seen hanging around the stage door, trying to get t an autograph.

It was her seventh birthday and he arrived home that night almost clucking with glee. He opened a BAG and pulled out a beautuful leather bound little autograph book. He opened it and pointed to the very first autograph.

“With Love From the Stargazers” it said.

Sally looked at it in awe.



Come to me my Love
Let me see you with eyes blinded by love
Let me put my hands onto Your wounds
Caress Your Body
With my broken body
Bruised by the world’s cruelty
And incomprehension
Let the rivers of blood and water flow
For we are already one
Our hearts beat as one
Our cries rise to heaven as one
In the abandonment of love
Pure sacrifice
Ecstatic in union
In Love You came
And with blind eyes I saw You

#FOWC. VALID.The Getaway

FOWC with Fandango — Valid

Jenny was beginning to wonder if her emotions were VALID. After all, he had said to her that her grief over the death was abnormal. She had wondered why, but chose not to challenge him on it. But now, everything seemed mixed up in her head. She wasn’t really sure what was happening to her. She was beginning to wonder what she had got into. Yet still, something was drawing her. She couldn’t quite bring herself to get away. It was as if she was mesmerised.

She thought about going to talk to Cynthia, the Church solicitor, but didn’t know if she would charge her for her time or not, and money was one thing that she certainly did not have. Unlike him – it seemed to be rattling around in his pockets almost. In fact she often felt quite out of it at the Sunday dinner table, when all the talk was of expensive cars and expensive wine. Jenny had never been much of a drinker, but since coming to the vicarage, she had become quite the drinker. Indeed, as soon as her wine glass had started to become a bit empty, the vicar had topped it up again. So much so that one day Jenny had had to go and lie down on the bed upstairs for a while.

Her mind went back to the second time she had met with him in his Study. It was an evening. He had been ready, with two glasses. One contained whisky, the other water. As they talked, Jenny became quite distressed. Lowering her face she began to cry. The next thing she knew was that he was holding the glass of whisky to her lips.

“This is the hard stuff,” he said.

Jenny gulped. She felt the warmth as it slid down her throat. It revived her, and they continued with their conversation. Occasionally he would put the glass of water to her lips. She never knew quite what was coming, but she was feeling more and more relaxed and more and more woozy. As she thought back to that night she realised that she could not quite remember how she had got home. But she must have done.

There were so many strange things, and ones that you would not expect to go on in a vicarage. Though so many things did not make sense, Cynthia’s warning to be careful took root. The niggles that had already begun to form in Jenny’s mind were ignited and began to take on a life of their own. Yet still, she could not quite break free.

Then came the day when they wanted her to go with them to see their son in the city. “Let’s get you introduced to him if you are to be part of the family,” the vicar had said. Jenny felt alarm rising. What was he talking about? She had her own family, though she was quite distanced from them. “We will stop on the way and buy you some clothes.” Uh? What was this all about? Suddenly Jenny felt very fearful. What were they going to do? Why did she need to be bought some clothes? The fear turned to panic. She protested. Told them she was not going with them.

Jenny did not expect her protestations to be accepted, but they were.

“O.K. then, said the vicar. There are plenty of books around, you can entertain yourself with those. There’s plenty of food in the fridge, and we’ll be back this evening.”

It was obvious that they expected Jenny to stay with them now, but Jenny had realised that something was badly wrong. This was no longer a game. It was deadly serious. Her brain started working overtime, and as soon as they had gone, she jumped into her car and left.




I hear
You in mornings
Filled with wonder, joyful
Songs of the Springtime, sky dancing
And at eventide, your song swells
With joys of the past day
Soon you will rest,


Yes, I’m writing about grief again. I can’t ignore it, it’s there.

Today I sat near to the electricity sub station in my home village, just before sunset. I sit there sometimes because it is quiet, being situated on a back lane right outside of the village. As I sat, I realised that in only a few short minutes everything would change. Quite dramatically. As the sun sank, it would disappear and everything would start to go darker, after a gloriously sunny day. It would happen almost in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, it would look like a completely different landscape. Though I am legally blind, I can still see shapes, and shades of light and dark, though to me, nothing is really distinguishable. But I can still get a sense of things.

As I was sitting it seemed to me that so many things happen in what seems like the blink of an eye. One minute I could see, then quite suddenly I couldn’t. One minute I could walk, and then I couldn’t. One minute I didn’t have cancer, the next I did, although in reality I had already had it for at least a year.

And then the biggie – one minute my mother was alive, the next she was dead.

Things happen in the blink of an eye that completely change your whole world such that it is almost unrecognisable.

I have always been a very sensitive person. I feel things very deeply. I have received a lot of criticism for this over the years. But I can’t help it. That is me. And today I felt very deeply my loss and pain. The loss of my health, my eyesight, my walking, and my mother. I realised more than ever that I am on my own in life. Which would not be so bad if I was fit and healthy. The pain overcame me.

Sometimes I feel I will never get over the pain. There is just so MUCH.

Today I thought about trying to get my eyesight back. Three years ago, I was due to have surgery in an attempt to restore my eyesight. It was not known whether the outcome would be positive or not. I was due to have the surgery a few days before Christmas. It was to be a very dicey operation. There weee to be two different operating theatres, one for each eye, and two separate teams assisting the surgeon. This was to guard against any infection occurring. As my immune system is very damaged by the cancer, this was very necessary.

It was a very dramatic time for me. Would I get my eyesight back or not?

Just before the surgery was due to take place, I had to have my heart checked, as my chemo drugs can cause damage to the heart. I had to have lung and respiratory tests to make sure that my lung function would withstand the anaesthetic. Then I had to see the anaesthetist to see whether he was prepared to give me an anaesthetic or not.

The answer was “No.” A very resounding one. My heart was not working right, and my lungs were so badly affected by the chemo that I would be at risk of dyingg from respiratory failure. I was told that I would only ever be granted an anaesthetic if I was dying anyway but an operation might save me.

I came out of that meeting with the anaesthetist shaken to my core.

Yet, today, I wondered. Might there be someone somewhere who was willing to take the risk and try? My life feels like shit anyway and, as somebody said to me the other day, “Your body is just a shell.”

If I could just get one thing better, then it would help. My life would be more worth living. Though the constant pain that I am in will not cease, and to be frank, I often feel that this is something that I cannot bear any longer.

Today, I found myself feeling all that grief. Bthe whole huge blob of grief of my life. Yes, it was grief over my mother’s death, but also the grief over my whole situation.

In the blink of an eye. Yes, in the blink of an eye your whole world can change.


When the going is rough
And the rough is in the going
Take me oh tide
To a better place
But first let me ride the waves
Tread on the stones
That sharpen my wit
And strengthen my resolve
And lead me to calmer shores
Where I can eat and enjoy
The fruits of my labour
Lie in the sun
And savour the delights of heaven

#FOWC. Egregious. Strange Meeting in a Coffee Shop

FOWC with Fandango — Egregious

Jenny sat at the table in the window in the restaurant above the china shop. She loved to come here, as she could watch all the goings on in the small town from a vantage point. Well, all the goings on in that little area, but it was an area where many people seemed to gather. Right across the road were some beautiful gardens, where people loved to sit in the summer months, both locals and tourists alike. Old men would often gather on one of the wooden seats, exchanging jokes and tales with each other. There was a bus stop nearby, where various buses would stop to drop off or pick up people from the outlying villages, and from the nearest city. There was the posh hotel where people stayed when they had business in the town, and just along from there was a fruit and vegetable shop that had its wares set out on a stall outside shop. Jenny had been warned about this shop.

“Don’t buy anything from there,” Jill had said to her. “All the locals know about it. There is a cat that wanders around and jumps up onto the stall and pees on the cauliflowers.” Duly warned, Jenny avoided the shop, and indeed, did not even really like looking at it.

Right at the junction between then posh hotel and the Gardens was a roundabout. One exit off it went up a steep hill past the Church and the gate to the vicarage, opposite to the Church. Thus, anyone wanting to go from the Church to the vicarage or vice versa had to cross a busy road. It was very interesting watching the traffic making its way round the roundabout in an almost quaint kind of a way. In fact, the whole scene was quite quaint, especially when it snowed, and cars and buses were slithering and sliding all over the place with the council being caught unawares by a sudden and unexpected snowfall.

“Hi Jenny,” she suddenly heard, as she sat gazing out of the window. It was Cynthia, the Church solicitor. Jenny had got to know her a little bit from the times she had attended some event at the Church.

“Do you mind if I come and sit with you?”

“Of course not,” replied Jenny, feeling rather glad of the company. She had things on her mind. And this was just the person who might be able to answer some of her questions and put her mind at rest. She had been becoming increasingly troubled by what she was experiencing at the vicarage, and yet she felt drawn to it like a moth to a light.

“How long have you known the vicar?” she asked Cynthia.

“Oh, quite a lot of years,” Cynthia replied.

“He seems very well liked,” remarked Jenny. Indeed, everyone in the town seemed to know him, and no one had a bad word for him.

“Always ready to help if there is a need,” Jenny had heard someone say.

“I’ve been the Church solicitor for twenty years, and I’ve had a lot of dealings with him,” said Cynthia.

Jenny chatted quite lightheartedly with Cynthia about the vicar, and about the various things going on at the Church, laughing at some of the more recent happenings. Suddenly, she felt rather overcome, and she found herself saying some things that she never intended to say.

“He wanted me to change my name,” Jenny said, “By Deed Poll.”

Cynthia started visibly.

“Just be careful,” she said to Jenny. “You know he’s going on holiday this next week. I want you to know that you can come and talk to me if you want to.”

Jenny felt slightly shocked, though almost relieved.

“He’s a very EGREGIOUS character,” Cynthia said, “only most people don’t see it. Not many have got as close to him as you have. Now  you promise me that if you get at all worried next week, you will come and see me.”

Jenny nodded, gratefully.


I bask in the sunset of a molten day
Sinking into vanilla sheets cooling sizzling sinews
Stretched beyond forbearance
Snapping in the lava flow
Red with intent
Is this the calm before the storm
The explosive gases of your hatred
For I have learned it well
That history repeats itself
And nothing is ever sated
Save my inner essence
That drinks of everlasting waters
Frothing from the ground


“And let perpetual light shine on them,”
Those words I heard today,
Not expecting them to come,
Quite suddenly they pierced the air,
I raised my head,
Looking to the heavens
As if to take in all my memories,
The joy, the pain, the laughter

Suddenly all were one,
Joined together seamlessly,
Chickens, corn and sandpits
Apples, nuts and tractors in the fields,
Starry nights that made me ask
“Where is God?”
And in my child’s mind’s eye
I saw Him beyond the stars
Swathed in mystery
And yet
So simple
Here, in the evening of my life
I sat, re-connecting with my past
And all of those who went before me,
On them and on all my memories the words did fall,
“And let perpetual light shine on them


FOWC with Fandango — Pressure

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said, as he exited the kitchen where Jenny and Jill were sitting.


He had been acting strangely for a while now.  Well, strange compared to what he had been like in the beginning. He seemed to be in a permanent temper nowadays.  Jenny suspected that she was something to do with that.  He hadn’t QUITE got her hooked yet, and she was refusing to do what he wanted her to do.  She still had a mind of her own, despite the mind games he had been playing  with her.  In a way, she was playing her own game too.


“I am under PRESSURE,” he spat at Jenny one day, in the kitchen. Each word was emphasised with each wag of his finger in Jenny’s face.  She got hold of the sleeve of his jacket and tugged it, to try and bring him back to her.  Then she stroked his arm as if to placate him.  But he was having none of it.


More and more he was changing into a different person.  No longer was he always the kindly, if rather eccentric and outrageous vicar.  One day during lunch he disappeared in an irritated fashion out into the expansive  vicarage garden, and stood in the middle of the lawn, staring into space.


Jenny and Jill were left to keep each other company in the kitchen. Jill seemed more on edge than usual, as she kept giving Jenny those watery smiles that she had come to know so well.  They tended to go with the pale blue trouser suit, the misplaced make up and the expensive perfume that Jill wore when going to some important event at the church. Ever the obedient vicar’s wife, she must not let the side  down.


“All those ladies that I have to look after,” she had remarked to Jenny one day.  It was obvious that she felt quite unequipped to do it, but yet felt compelled to be the old fashioned type of vicar’s wife.  She was a great one for duty, however, and would rather have died than fail to do her duty, though she did confess  one day to Jenny that she was so relieved, with the advent of modern theology, that she was relieved when she discovered that she didn’t have to pray any more.


It was obvious that her husband was bored with her though.  His statement to Jenny that sex always had to be SO respectable gave him away.  Jenny had wondered just what he had wanted, and on one or two occasions he had given himself away by mentioning various things that seemed a bit beyond the pale to Jenny. Well, certainly for a vicar anyway! But there was one question that he put to her that did ring alarm bells in Jenny’s head.


“Does it mean they are any the less called?” he had asked her, when considering vicars who beat their wives.


Jill certainly was very subdued most of the time.  That was put down to her drugs for her depression, but Jenny wondered.  It turned out that some years ago Jill had had a miscarriage, and he had not understood her grief.  In fact, there was a LOT about Jill that he had not understood.  She had eventually left his bed and taken to sleeping on her own. But almost every afternoon Hugh, the retired journalist would appear at the back kitchen door and let himself in. He had reportedly announced to Jill,


“You don’t have to worry about me.   I couldn’t get it up now anyway.”  But he was obviously sweet on Jill and she was  obviously sweet on him.  When discussions were going on at the Sunday lunch table about the murder, the sexual motivation for the murder was brought up.  Hugh had piped up,


“Well I am sexually curious.”


Jenny had, as time went on, become more and more shocked by what she heard being said at the vicarage.  There seemed to be no boundaries at all, and Jenny began to wonder just what she had got into.  And into it all came what seemed to Jenny to be a rising tension, even within Jill. One day, she began attacking the ice that had built up in the freezer with great fury.  She had in her hand a knife.  A very SHARP  knife. Jenny began to feel most uncomfortable as Jill’s whole body began to shake as she plunged the knife into the ice.


He was back within three hours, looking sated, announcing that he had been down the motorway and stopped off for a meal, so he would want no tea. He was in a much  better mood, and casually referred to another murder that had taken place some years ago quite a few miles down the motorway, near to a lake.




It is still not many weeks since my mum died. She died on a Saturday evening at 8.30p.m. So Saturdays always remind me.

I think I am gradually getting a but more back to “normal” regarding blogging, and reading the work of others, etc. At first I found it SO hard. My brain just would not work, beyond a few short words. I could not seem to put much together coherently. Also, I found it quite difficult to write about anything other than pain, but I did push through the pain barrier and write other things too.

I am still finding it really hard. Sleeping at nights is difficult, so I end up coming in here and posting stupid poems! I still have images of death, and the sounds of death coming into  my mind, and they are SO difficult to get rid of. I HATE it. I find myself being appalled at death itself, and longing to write about that. I cannot write slushy sentimental things about it. I just feel horror at it. But that is me. Not everybody feels that way.

Some days I still feel very very depressed. Other days I feel much better. It is still a terrible struggle.

Maybe I will write about one or two things that have happened, like finding an almost 70 year old letter written to my mother by my great grandmother, in which she mentions me.

It is a long and difficult road, as I am having memories come back. Very conflicting ones that I have to try and make sense of.

I am sure some of you will relate to this.

Soooooo, keep going Lorraine! Nothing will stop me writing! I am so glad that we have this outlet.

#FOWC. RARELY. I Won’t Look too Closely at That.

FOWC with Fandango — Rarely

“I won’t look too closely at that,” Jill had said as she ironed his shirts in the huge vicarage kitchen. There was a strange mark that had evaded the rigours of the washing machine. But that was Jill all over. Never looking too closely at anything. Maybe that was how she got through life, for indeed, there was plenty that DID need more closely looking at.

There had been one time, however, when Jill had had a showdown with him. He had been in the habit of going, late at night, to the home of his female curate. Indeed, he had told Jenny himself about this, making much of the fact that he had gone there in “thin trousers.” He had remarked that he didn’t know what the neighbours must have thought, though he insisted to Jenny that his visits were for the purposes of work. Later, however, he revealed that Sarah, the curate understood about hugs. He was about to go away on holiday, leaving Jenny with the key to the vicarage, but telling her to be in contact with Sarah for company. He also revealed that the whole church knew of his relationship with Sarah, saying,

“Of course, they are in love.”

Jenny had RARELY, if ever, met anyone quite like this before, who was able to make the most outrageous of things seem quite normal and acceptable. He could get away with murder! He had a kind of charm about him that attracted even the most hardened of persons.

“He’s very eclectic,” Jill had said one day to Jenny. Jenny was not quite sure what this meant, but she looked it up in the dictionary later, and had to agree that this was exactly what he was. She had never known a vIcar quite like this before. Not that she had known that many vicars, but the ones she had known had been stuffy and boring. This one had his fingers in many pies. Including MI5! He had told Jenny that he used to be very friendly with the Head of MI5. He had also said that it was a shame he was dead now, as he would have been able to provide Jenny with a completely new identity, thus proving the German philosophy that said it was possible to exchange one world for another. Jenny had felt rather alarmed by this, especially when he had started talking about “safe houses” and various other strange and sinister sounding things.

Somehow or other though, he had got her mind into a whirl, whereby she definitely was NOT herself any more. But he made things sound exciting. Like, one day he told her that he was due to go to meet someone in the cathedral in the nearby city, and that he planned to pick her up from the cottage where she lived, and take her with him hidden away in the back of his car, secrete her somewhere in the cathedral until hus Meeting was over, then put her back into his car and whisk her away somewhere. It sounded preposterous, and Jenny knew she would not allow this to happen. Exciting though it sounded, this was the first time that she felt real fear with him. There were to be many more times.