Homepage One
AftrnoonDelight
All True Tales
Artistic Dreams
AsianArt Page 1
AsianArt Page 2
AsianArt Page 3
Celts-Scotland
Chinese Whisper
Classic Poems
ClassicWillow
Cloud Dreams
Colourful Tales
Confucius Say
Confucius 2
Confucius 3
Cymru-Wales
Dodies Diets.
Dodies Kitchen
Dodie's Mood
Dodie's World
Dragon World
Dragons Life
Dream - Wishes
EastAsianNews
Japanese Art 2
Goblins Delight
Eira-Ireland
Elfs an Icicles
EnchantedDisney
Japanese Art
Life Knowledge
Music and Film
Mystery A go-go
Newsreel
Nursery Rhymes
Painted Winds
Rhymes Inc.
Saxon-England
Seligor'Stories
Studio Ghibli
Photo Albums
Blog
Dodies Profile
Links
Dodie's Dream World - Complete Chaos! xxx
Seligor'Stories




Click here to visit AsianParent.com.

Share




 Most of these stories I have written myself over the past few years, they are all very different but make nice light reading!



Finnigan  Revisited.

             The couple sat at the table, central in the large vista window. The sun had crept around the corner of Marks and Spencers and was casting its beams down upon Alice's grey, no silver curls, they bounced and glistened as she talked little ringlets of silver that helped light up the window as did Alice's beaming smile.   

His name was Frederick Finnigan, Old Fred  to all his friends and there were many of these scattered around Dublin's fair city.

            Alice looked into his tanned faced, not tanned by the sun alone but by age also. It was a receptical of life's troubles, each line and crease told a story; his cauliflower ears and broken nose told that this man could well have been a boxer at one time in his life.
They wouldn't have been wrong, for from a  look out boy on the corner of Dundonald Street  keeping cavy for the bare knuckle fighters to his progression into the ring proper and then as a 'well sort after' ring master. Oh yes, Fred Finnigan had lived a very full life indeed.

He reached across the table and placed his hand gently upon hers. Alice moved it away and glanced towards the counter.
"I take it ye'll be needin another cup o tea then lass," he smiled and stood up, his eyes twinkling.
"Fred Finnigan I do believe you have not changed at all," She flirted, dropping her eyes like a 16yr old.
"Neither have you Alice Whortle; though I do believe we have both lived many changes over the past thirty years."
They looked at each other and for some reason known only unto them selves they began to laugh, probably each one remembering the escapades of those past thirty years.
"You want that cup of tea Alice Whortle, or not? " he asked her as he stood in front of her. She had her hand now, over her mouth trying to stifle the last of her giggles. He touched her shoulder and squeezed it gently. She sighed, he walked away.
Her eyes followed him, he walked with a slight swagger towards the counter, she frowned, he didn't look as tall today as he used to.  It must be the pin stripe suit, it was very like the one he wore the day she married William,  she scowled, No, surely it wasn't the same suit, and it definitely wasn't the same flower. He wore a  red rose to show his undying love for William and herself that day.
Today he was wearing a small knot of blue forget-me-nots, the colour matched his eyes then, she thought. she diverted her eyes from his back and took in the cut of the cafe; it hadn't changed that much, though it looked more of a cafe now than it did back then.

Then it was more like a speak easy of the thirties. Not the American speak easy but a Rebublican Meeting place. She couldn't help her eyes turning upwards towards the ceiling, it was still high and the hooks still hung from the rafters. She sighed and looked down at the table, her hands were shaking, she tried to still them.
The memories from the past returned like a grey, ghostly blanket smothering the light and bringing with it the smell of cordite, there was aloud bang as someone dropped a dish. Alice jumped, it made her heart beat a little faster, then a pleasant air of fancy came over her as the strains of Danny Boy floated across the cafe floor.
       Fred placed the cups on the table and without  a word she stood up and together they swayed to the music.  Hardly moving. No words were spoken, none were needed. The music stopped and he took her back to her seat, she sat down a slight tear in the corner of her eye. Fred took out of his pocket his handkerchief and leaning across the table he wiped it away, kissing her softly on her silver curls.
       She was still so very pretty, William had been a lucky fellow; maybe if he had been around more, instead of doing his evening work she just might have been his and instead of being young Grace's God Father, he could have been her father.
       They sat looking at each other, no smile on their lips but the same twinkle in their eyes, he just realised that the flowers on her jacket were forget-me-nots as well, but before he could mention it, the door of the cafe opened and the little bell rang. "Seconds Out" Fred whispered.The lady who walked in was in her thirties, she walked directly to their table, she smiled. Fred took her hand and likewise Alice caught hold of her other one."Just look at the two of you "  Grace said bringing their
"Have you not noticed the time it's almost 11'o clock, and time nor church waits for no man, least of all you two?
They stood up, flanking her on either side. Grace looked first at her mother then at her God Father.
"It's going to be wonderful having a Mam and Dad again." She said closing the door gently behind them. hands together in front of her.

D. M. S. 2007©






Welcome to your weekly update from Play-Asia.com.


DODIES DREAM WORLD



Share 


THE STORY OF THE DAYS

Sunday   Monday    Tuesday     Wednesday     Thursday     Friday     Saturday

Have  you ever met Mr. and Mrs. Day?

        I bet you have, and many, many times at that. In fact without them we wouldn't be anywhere, for in a way without them there wouldn't be anywhere to go. I will give you a clue. They all live together in a house called The Week and this house is in a place called Month Avenue. And to add to that Month Avenue is just one of the Twelve Avenue's that make their home in Year City in the wonderful Country of Time.
        Shall we go into the house and have a look at all seven rooms together. Mr Day lives in the one room, Mrs Day in another, and their five children have one room each. Each room is separated from the next by a wall of Sleep, and they talk to each other through  the telephone of Dreams.


Everything was peaceful and quiet in the House of Days, that was until the days decided that they were going to have a party. This is what happened:----

The days of the week once wanted to be free to get together and have a party. But each of the seven days was so occupied, the year around, that they had no time to spare. They wanted a whole extra day; but then they had that every four years, the intercalary day that comes in February for the purpose of keeping order in chronology.

On the intercalary day they would get together for a party, and, as February is the month of carnivals, they would come in costumes of each one's taste and choice; they would eat well, drink well, make speeches, and be complimentary and disagreeable to one another in unrestrained comradeship. While the vikings of olden times used to throw their gnawed-off bones at each other's heads during mealtime, the days of the week intended to throw jokes and sarcastic witticisms such as might be in keeping with the innocent carnival spirit.

So when it was intercalary day, they assembled.

Sunday, foreman of the days of the week, appeared in a black silk cloak; pious people thought he was dressed for church in a minister's gown, but the worldly minded saw that he was attired in a domino for merriment and that the flashing carnation he wore in his buttonhole was a little red theater lantern on which it said, "All sold our; see now that you enjoy yourselves!"

Monday, a young fellow related to Sunday, and very fond of pleasures, came next. He left his workshop, he said, whenever he heard the music of the parade of the guard.

"I must go out and listen to Offenbach's music; it doesn't go to my head or to my heart; it tickles my leg muscles; I must dance, have a few drinks, get a black eye, sleep it off, and then the next day go to work. I am the new part of the week!"

Tuesday is Tyr's day, the day of strength.

"Yes, that I am," said Tuesday. "I take a firm grip on my work; I fasten Mercury's wings onto the merchant's boots, see that the wheels in the factory are oiled and turning, that the tailor sits at his table, and that the street paver is by his paving stones; each attends to his business, for I keep my eye on all. Accordingly, I am here in a police uniform and call myself Tuesday, a well-used day! If this is a bad joke, then you others try to think of a better one!"

    "Then I come," said Wednesday.

"I'm in the middle of the week. The Germans call me Herr Mittwoch. I stand like a journeyman in a store and like a flower in the midst of the other esteemed days of the week! If we all march up in order, then I have three days before me and three days behind; they are like an honor guard, so I should think that I am the most prominent day in the week!"

Thursday appeared dressed as a coppersmith, with a hammer and a copper kettle, as a symbol of his noble descent.

"I am of the highest birth," he said, "paganish, godlike! In the Northern countries I am named after Thor, and in the Southern countries after Jupiter, who both knew how to thunder and lighten, and that has remained in the family!"
And then he beat his copper kettle, thereby proving his high birth.

Friday was dressed as a young girl, and called herself Freia, also Venus for a change, depending upon the language of the country in which she appeared. She was of a quiet, cheerful character, she said, but today she felt gay and free, for this was intercalary day, which, according to an old custom, gives a woman the right to dare propose to a man and not have to wait for him to propose to her.

Saturday appeared as an old housekeeper with a broom and other cleaning articles. Her favorite dish was beer soup, though at this festive occasion she did not request that it be served for everyone, only that she get it, and she got it.

And so the days of the week had their party.

 Japanese Onroyu.Fire with Heat  ~ Burning ~ Scalding.
Candle ~ Melting ~ Melting.

                   THE WRAITH,

Dorothy Milnes-Simm

I felt the warmth of the flames on my legs as they licked up the chimney-stack. Outside the wind was howling around the windows, trying to get into the room and take the warmth away.

I curled my knees up to my chest and let the chair support my back. I could hear the sobs of the wraiths, as they searched here and there for their kin. Watching as the wax melted slowly down the side of the candles. They flicked, yet there was no movement in the air.

Maybe if I turned on the lights, it would at least relieve the shadows from their continual dance routine, which in place was adding more movement to the ghostly shadows that filled the room.  I stretched out my legs rubbing my shins as I did so.

The skin was already turning pink from the heat of the scarlet dragons, there webs crawling  slowly from her ankle to her knee. My mother used to call it "corned beef legs", I preferred dragons webs.  I put my feet down to the carpet and pushed  the chair back a little.

           Muttering to myself I walked out into the kitchen to make a drink, maybe if I ignored them they would go away, this was a very big if ! 

It had been a long time since the wraiths had come calling, and it puzzled me as to why it was this week they had chose to visit the village again. We had just had the first of the winters snow. Maybe they were caught napping and hadn't found somewhere warm to sleep. It was very difficult trying to understand why they came at all, but here they were after three whole years of peace and quiet they were back!.

I didn’t put on the light; instead I lit the candle on the fridge top, my shadow immediately filled the small room.

Moving slowly I dodged the corner of the Welsh-dresser and keeping close to the wall made my way towards the sink, turning on the cold water tap to draw the water and fill the kettle too the top, making sure there was enough left over after supper to fill my hot-water bottle. As I withdrew the spout from the tap, the bloody water fell down into the bowl which still contained the tea dishes, hit a spoon and the freezing water splashed right down the front of my pyjamas.

Swearing profusely I pulled away, grabbed the nearest cloth to hand but found myself staring into the blackness of night. The light shone past me and reflected back off the window glass. I felt my stomach turn as I realised that I had grabbed the curtain, but had forgotten to let down the blind.

As I leaned towards the golden chain which unleashed the blind, she was there. Out of the corner of my eye, she was there, looking at me, I tried to look away, pulling the curtain across my face. She frowned and a white hand reached up and touched the window pane. I could hear my voice in my head telling me to protect myself. Don't let her look into my eyes, I must close the blind, I must. screwing my eyes up tight and placing the kettle on the bunker I grabbed the chain. The blind began to fall, there was a thud as it hit the waiting window sill.

Taking a deep breath I opened my eyes. Oh my God, the blind had stopped. It was resting on the top of the metal book stand,  She stood there looking straight ahead. I moved quickly, grabbing the stand and letting the blind fall to close the gap. It fell, but sideways. There was still a small gap to the right of her head. Her hands began to smash against the glass, hard. Oh God if she keeps this up she'll smash the window, I needed to close the gap and prayed as I again closed my eyes and closed the gap. The knocking stopped.

I slowly turned away, I could still feel her eyes burning into my back, it hurt, it physically hurt. That she was able to create physical pain made me frown, yet it made me determined to complete my task, I needed a cup of tea more than ever now.

I could feel bile rising in my throat, then it was in my mouth. I wanted to spit but that mean't turning back towards the sink. There was no way she was going to gain entry into my world again. I found the kettle and   placed it on the cooker. 

Then came the feint tapping on the window pane. Not loud this time, her taps were alternating with the dripping of the tap that I hadn’t quite turned off.  The water was heating up, the noise of the kettle boiling was drowning out the tap and also the tapping. I walked across to the candle and blew it out. I closed my eyes as I extinguished the flame, opening them to reveal the kitchen in partial darkness, only the shaded light  from the living room and the red glow of the covered cooker ring lit the kitchen. Almost done I breathed a sigh of relief..


  I jumped as the kettle began to whistle, blimey I really did need a cuppa, my hands were still shaking.  I  prepared the mug. Then turning the ring off under the kettle I poured the water.

Without a light to guide her,  she had become visibly invisible, yet I could still hear her broken sobs. and her  soft tappings on the window pane.

The wind was getting up outside, It rattled the back door. For one silent moment my thoughts of human kindness tripped through my head.  It soon dispersed as I reminded myself that this was not human.

Keeping to the darkened shadows of the kitchen,  I made my way back to the window, turning off the tap and securing the blind and the curtain.

 She screamed, it sent a chill through to my bones, I covered my ears, shivering. I heard another scream, fainter. I picked up my mug and made my way into the parlour.

I sat back down on my chair, placing the mug on the coffee table. I turned off the table lamp and once more the flames of the candles began to dance in the slight movement in the room. Again each movement of my body was quadrupled in the flickering candle light.

I settled down in my chair, listening, expecting another scream, but none came. For a moment I thought I heard a scratching at the front door. I reached for the remote control and turned on the TV.

An omnibus of Doctor Who was about to start, something about the war and the blitzs. Hmm, not sure I fancy that tonight, I smiled and turned over to take in a remake of Titanic. At least on the ship there were no wraiths wondering round.... or where there?

I was ready to drink my tea, eat a penguin and relax. I turning up sound!


Dot Milnes-Simm©
 

This wee story was written by my friend Liz, a co member of the "Pin Board Writing Club." Unfortunately she has a full time job now, which no longer leaves her time to join us. Though when ever she has a spare Monday Morning she is always there at the Daniel Owen Centre in
Mold


Image


5 A DAY- An Alternative Menu

Written by my good friend and fellow writer,
Liz Proctor

 
        Pam Mai Ravie whinced at the meal her mother had put in front of her for dinner and sighed.
"Mum, you know I'm trying not to eat this sort of food anymore. I really want to eat a healthier diet and you keep sabotaging it by putting all of this on my plate every night."
She prodded the various pieces of meat with her fork .
"We should all give it a go, not just me. I know it's much more difficult for you and Dad to adjust after all these years, but you'd both benefit you know as well as Michael and Ruby if only ........"
"That's enough Pam!" her mother Eva cut in.
 "You and your new-fangled ideas. I'm fed up of it.Your father and I have been eating this food for years and years, do we look unhealthy ?
Your brother and sister eat what we put before them,and we dn't need you to start fillinf their heads with your stupid ideas
         Eva slammed the fridge door shut, and as she did so her voice grew increasingly louder.
"You'd think I was serving up convenience foods from the supermarket, or using a microwave all the time. Every one of you have a choice of meats each night, as well gravy and vegetables.
I cook everything fresh before you leave for your night school, so tell me young lady, what  is  your  problem ? "Pam's Night School
         Pam opened her mouth to speak, but Eva still hadn't finished.
"I know what it is, it's those new blessed girlfriends  you've got yourself mixed up with at this night school. The're influencing you with their fancy ideas, fruit and veg! you will end up end up anorexic.  Do you want to look like these so called super models, as thin as a rake with not an ounce of meat on any of them, do you ?" she was wagging her finger in front of Pam's face.
"Which incidently brings me right back to you refusing to eat your dinner again tonight. "Do you know how much it is costing your father to let you go to this bloody night school, you do realise don't you that  he is having to work extra shifts to fund you through it, and he has to provide for Michael and Ruby and their needs as well, so you better get rid of these fancy idea's,  I am not, having all his hard work going to waste."
She pushed the plate back in front of Pam.
"I am not throwing away decent food and that's that. Your dad will be getting up shortly and he will be having this very same meal before getting ready to go to work . "She paused long enoughto take a breath,"and just for the record lady,  Michael and Ruby thoroughly enjoyed their dinner tonight,  and you haven't forgotten that it is Michael's time to go with your Dad on his rounds tonight?."

    Startled Pam looked at her mother she shook her head in dismay. She was just about to speak when her father walked into the room.
"As good as any alarm clock is your mothers voice," he said, giving her a  sleepy smile, as he sat down at the table.
Eva rolled her eyes and glared at Pam as she apologised to her husband.
"I am so sorry my love but it's this girl going on one of her missions, saying anything to avoid eating the meals I'm preparing for her,"
Anton's SupperShe threw another dirty look at her daughter, a deep frown spread across her brow.
"I wouldn't mind Anton but she has never gone hungry. she has always been given the best wholesome food all her life."
She put the cup down on the table a little too hard and it spilt.  "Dash it Anton, it just gets me so frustrated, you go out night after night, work so hard, and I really don't want her unsettling the younger ones."
Eva reached over and placed her husbands meal in front of him, he smiled at her then began to cut up the mixed grill of liver, kidneys and steak. He took a mouthful and began to eat. Pam began to play with her food again.
Her father finished his food and put his knife and fork down.
"Ok Pam what's this all about then?"
She felt decidedly uncomfortable and kept her eyes on the table.
"Well Dad, I really do think Mum is taking this to far. I have been trying to tell you both for ages that I prefer eating fruit and veg to meat. In fact you could say I'm sort of a vegetarian already,"
 She swallowed hard, knowing how much this must be upsetting both her parents.
"To be honest with you mum and dad I don't want to eat meat from now on."
There she'd said it at last. She swallowed hard, her mouth dry with apprehension as her father stopped chewing and lifted his head to look at her. His gaze made her feel nervous and uncomfortable. She felt herself fidgeting in her chair.
"Is that so?" He said slowly and deliberately.
"I suppose your mother has told you that I am taking Michael out with me tonight?"
Pam nodded her head.
"In fact, he is very keen to join me, and Ruby has expressed a keen interest already, although she is a little too young at present, but we're  very proud of both of them, aren't we Mother?"
Eva nodded her head in agreement.
plate of fruit"And they have done this without any prompting from either your mother or myself."
Pam gave a deep sigh and open her hands wide as she began to explain herself.
"Oh dear you just don't understand, do you? What I meant was, it is about healthier options, eating fruit, veg all the recommendations we're getting told about for eating  five a day."
Her father stood up and poured himself a glass of water, he turned back to the table, Pam  was almost in tears.
"That's all very well Pam and I hear you, and I do know where you are coming from but I can't understand why you want to kick out against what comes naturally to all of us." He sighed
"I'll grant you the five a day that you're referring to, is not the same as the five a day that we're used to. But it's in your blood girl and you can't do anything about it now."
He walked over to her chair. "You are trying to change your future, look at your name Pam, why do you think you will always have this struggle on your hands.
Today a vegetarian but then like your name my daughter you are going to find it difficult to  maintain a vegetarian diet."
"My name father, what about my name, you gave it to me?"
"I know that Pam, and if you haven't realised why you're called Pam Mai and not Pamela by now, well I just don't believe it's possible. Here take this."
Her father pushed a piece of paper and a pen over to her.
"Now write your name on the paper,"
Pam picked up the pen and wrote 'Pam Mai Ravie' down.
"Now tell me after all these years that you haven't noticed!"
"Noticed what?" Pam  shouted.
"Oh for hell's sake Pam, it tells the whole world that", her father stopped and reaching for the pen  he began to write the letters out ."

His steely gaze fixed on her, they read,


"Pam Mai Ravie......
 
You are a Vampire."

P A M  M A I  R A V I E ...... I  AM  A  V A M P I R E


          
Monster Mash


Buy English and Japanese Guide Books, Artbooks, Magazines and more at Play-Asia.com



  Josephine and Napoleon

Napoleon
Josephine strutted round the farmyard, her tail feathers stood proudly erect ,  the beautiful red comb that adorned her head stood tall. Back and forth she walked as though on a catwalk.

 “Oh do get out of the way Antoinette, can’t you not see that I’m practising my walk for when the Emperor arrives!” she clucked crossly,  swaggering from side to side as she trod carefully on the cobble stones.
 “O-o- o, get her girls.” Antoinette the little red hen clucked, opening her left wing and bowing low before the speckled hen, “and what makes you think that he’s going to take a second look at you. Just because you have  a red and gold ring on yer leg, you think you’re the bee’s knees…. that’s if bees do have knees of course!”
     “Way aye man of course they have knees,  Antoinette, otherwise why would we say it?” Connie said scratching the ground… which created a dust bath… which  caused poor Josephine to start coughing, which had the adverse effect of making her tail droop.
 “Oh Constance, how could you.” she spluttered,
 “look what you’ve done now, my poor tail feathers, what will le Nappy say when he espies them, I am surely undone!” she exclaimed with a sniff and a hiccup which all but finished off the tail feathers completely.
“Nappy! Undone!,” Antoinette clucked again, “Well our kid, you won’t have long to wait , ere he comes now.”
Josephine regained some of her posture and with her beak stuck in the air walked proudly down the path to meet him!
“Bonjour, you are fine Non!”
Napoleon looked at her and frowned,
“Fine, fine, here it is a beautiful late afternoon, the sun is still shining, my feathers preened to excellence and I’m ordered down to this, this farmyard, ….. and all because Le Jacob requires some new additions to his roost. Say la vie, lets get on with it ” he added  Then seeing a bunch of groundsel growing under a bush, he began to peck at it, shaking it back and forward in his beak which seems to be the things roosters do best. Then wanting to get on with the dirty deed, he smiled rapaciously as he turned to face the waiting ladies. Antoinette, Connie, etc.
Whilst his beak had been busy with the groundsel, his eyes had been watching the goings on between the frustrated hens.
Once more his smile faded, the deed needed doing but he would much rather have been down the river with the delightful chicks of  Enri’s Laconte, who were by far a much better gathering of biddies, and they were younger .
 “Well mon petite poussins, who is going to be first to enjoy the pleasures of Nap-o-leon Bon-apar-te. come girl’s get in line”
Napoleon fluffed his wings, shook his head making  his beautiful multicolour comb and wattle glimmer in the sunshine and cocking his head to one side surveyed the brood.
Josephine had pushed her way forward to the front of the line, trying her damnedest to get the attention of her Napoleon. But to her disgust he walked straight over to Connie, Connie with about as much finesse as a street walker outside the Arc de Triumph.  “Huh he wasn’t going to get much triumph there” she muttered to herself.
But triumph or not Connie had a huge smile on her face when she came out from behind the bushes.
Next to be taken for the act d’amour was Alison, a very pretty little French chick, with a nice pink tinge to her feathers. Napoleon pecked her gently on the back as she passed by him, together they walked towards the bush.
“Je t’adore mon cher” Napoleon’s words could be heard by the waiting hens.
“Je t’aime vous Nappy” Came the reply.
“The French hussy,” said Josephine puffing her chest out in disgust. Yet at the same time hoping it was her turn next. But it was not to be. One by one Napoleon took the ladies behind the bushes, did the works and sent them back to the farmyard with a smile on their faces.
In the end there was only Antoinette and Josephine left.
And what of poor Boney, for sure when he walked into the farmyard it was with a spring to his step, but it seemed to Antoinette, that the Rampant Rooster  was beginning to buckle at the knees.
 “Eeee I hope he’s all right for us” she said to Josephine, he looks a bit knackered to me.”
 “Don’t be silly, our French cockerels are much more, what you say, “Sexy” than your English Cocks. He will be fine, we will get the best you wait and see.”
But it was NOT Antoinette who waited, it was Josephine.
Goodness knows what Antoinette and Napoleon got up to in the bushes, but if the words  c’est l’amore and C’est Chouette were anything to go by, then a rather good time was being had by both the birds in the bush.
Antoinette walked, no, almost flew back to the farmyard, her claws barely touched the cobbles, so light her heartbeats.
Josephine stood there trembling, it had been such a long wait but now, now it was her turn.Satisfied Antoinette
Napoleon came from behind the bush, his comb at an angle his wattle slack against his lathered feathers. Slowly he made his way towards Josephine. She raised her wings and stepped forward , perfection in her gait, the sun was beginning to fade away behind the trees.
Napoleon held her in his grasp, moved to whisper in her ear.
Non ce soir Josephine.
Not tonight Josephine.

Sunday 29th July 2007
 (Copyright) Dorothy Milnes Simm©

       

Buy English and Japanese Guide Books, Artbooks, Magazines and more at Play-Asia.com
 



Image
 
A Literary Monkey.


A monkey decided to write a book.
It was an unheard of conception and caused much consternation Monkeyamongst his fellow monkeys.
"You will make our family a laughing stock," said Father Monkey to his son.
"Monkeys do not do such things,what on earth are you thinking of? I have never had any desire to write a book and neither did my father before me. Please think hard about this foolish idea." he sighed. "What is wrong with being a warrior, or failing that, a tool-maker? There is always a market for twigs designed to root out termites and grubs. Think of your mother,  do you want other monkeys to point her out in the trees and snigger behind her tail, look, there goes the monkey whose son wants to write a book!" his father cotinued. "You are being selfish and unreasonable and if you don't see sense in this matter I will be forced to box your ears!

"Younger brother," said the monkey's brother, "for all that Father is sometimes very narrow in his thinking I do think he may be right Monkey's don't write books!" He frowned deeply. "I am, as you know, a well-respected Monkey about town, admired by my friends and eagerly sought after by lady monkeys for grooming and if it were to get about that my younger brother were an intellectual and was considering writing a book I would never be able to go anywhere, no one would ask me to  sleep-overs and all-night fermented fruit-juice parties and the most lovely girls would not want to be my girl friends anymore If you will not consider our parents position then at least think about mine - I have a reputation to think about."
        Image

 Monkey said nothing, he was to busy thinking why he shouldn't write a book. It's not as if monkeys are unintelligent creatures, we teach our young arithmetic and how to wash roots before they eat them. We  can speak the language of crocodiles, lions and birds and even have occasional talks with humans, so what is wrong with writing a book?
Did not our ancestors compose symphonies for woodwind and drum that even now are played on hollow tree stumps and gourds, resounding boldly across the plains?
 Even men have taken up the art and construct musical instruments of their own.
And were not our ancestors great artists and painters also, daubing sacred caves with images of the Gods in magical colours prepared from secret mixtures of ground ochre, fruit juice and bat poo?
So Monkey sat there thinking  about his great novel.
Already his fellow monkeys stopped to point him out, laughing at him and making curious  twisting motions with their fingers and toes to the side of their heads, though Monkey was oblivious didn't really pay any attention to them.

Father Monkey and Elder Brother were quite beside themselves now with indignation but no matter how much they moaned at him Monkey simply smiled at them, his thoughts a hundred miles away.
 One night he was even summoned to a meeting of the tribal Elders. In no uncertain terms  they made their viewpoint known.
If Monkey did not buckle down and put aside his foolish idea he would not be allowed to take part in the next great ant-honey expedition and he would (his mother wept to hear it) be relegated to the end of the pecking order to receive  his share of meat from any gibbon or spider-monkey slain by the warriors and hunters of  the tribe, receiving only the filthiest offal that no other self-respecting monkey would touch.
 He would be considered lower even than one-eyed and one-legged Pete or Fionula the idiotic girl-chimp, whom the tribe had adopted and who did their menial chores for them.   
Image

Once again however the wisdom of his betters and fellows seemed to fall upon deaf ears. Even when his long-standing sweetheart of a year turned her face away from him and allowed herself to be taken out by Daniel Sharp-fangs, Monkey was undeterred from his idea of writing a book.
Instead of having to listen to all the moanings from the others of his tribe he began to avoidthe familar jungle tracks where other monkeys might recognise and hoot  at him (sometimes they even threw rotten fruit.
Finally though, he decided that the only way to go forward would be to cut himself off completely from the rest of the pack and write his book away from all of them.
The pretty features of his fickle girl-friend swam blurily before his eyes but with a savage sweep of his paw he pushed the image away and loped off into the unknown to search  for a quiet glade or cave to write his masterpiece.

Eventually he found the ideal location, a light and airy hollow half-way up a cliff-face. Unfortunately it was occupied but after a gruelling and bitter struggle that would have astonished and delighted his father and the other elders had they witnessed it, he evicted the half-blind old Sun Bear, who despite his half gammy leg and worn down teeth, put up a fierce struggle.
Then in the week that followed he swept out the cave of bear-dropping, and other half eaten things that gummy bears leave lying around and made ready to begin.
He selected and prepared the best banana and papyrus leaves for writing on and slow-roasted twenty carefully crafted hard-wood twigs to just the right consistancy and quality of charcoal to make the perfect writing instruments till at last he was totally ready.
Then, as he sat by himself one beautiful, amber-skied late afternoon at the
entrance of his cave, surveying the valley beneath him and all the wonders of nature: the low purple hills in the distance, the occasional gleam of silver water, the  pink flush of the elegant flamingoes standing on one leg, the harsh  cries of condors and guillemots hunting or raising their young.
He said softly;
"My preparations are finished and I am ready to start upon the great work that will bring me fame and change the way future monkeys  think forever!"
He chewed carelessly at the tip of his twig....
"Now, let me see, what shall I write about..bananas or nuts?  
©PW

Image

Buy English and Japanese Guide Books, Artbooks, Magazines and more at Play-Asia.com
 

The Lovesick Stallion

Once upon a time there was a wonderful horse called Henry, nowadays he spent a lot of his time galloping round the meadows. This he had always done, so it was very strange what happened to him, this beautiful day, in August. He stood  quite still and wondered why it was he had never, ever wanted to run free~ it just never came into his mind before ~ yet, here he was in the middle of the paddock, thinking just that.
   Henry , which was the name given to him when he was born, had lived in the same place all his life. The Barn, his home since he was a small colt, stood as lovely as ever in the corner of his paddock, he wanted for nothing; fresh hay, grooming by a beautiful young filly named Janice, whose pony tail was almost as long as his, she brought him fresh water and food everyday, in fact, every day he was more than well looked after.
      As a youngster, he had remained rather a gangly, little chap for quite a while,  he often thought this was why he had been able to stay at Brookefield and not been sold on. Now however,  he had made up for the lost  growing times with his rich, grey dappled coat and a mane and tail that could have been made with spun silver and  spiders webs covered in morning dew, he had also grown in sature and by the time he was three, he could have been mistaken as Tolkein's great Shadowfax. Yes, life for Henry was very comfortable to say the least.
     Maybe that is why he suddenly began to have this desperate urge to be free; roam the wild meadows beyond the hills. These thoughts were very alien to Henry, but they remained with him all that day. Night began to fall and Henry made his way down to the barn, his stable I suppose we should call it. After eating his supper he stood by the stable door, resting his long neck against the wooden rail, he smiled as his eyes settled on the worn out groove to one side of the feeding basket. He smiled again as he realised that he was dreaming of the one he loved far, far away.
At that very moment, a shooting star crossed the sky he quickly made a wish and knew immediately that it would come true for without any thought of sleeping, he found his old satchel, and after  putting inside a few odds and ends he thought he might need, he was ready for the off.
He was just about to leave when he realised there was no sense in his departing in the middle of the night, he must have a sleep and wait for morning and breakfast. And so our intrepid adventurer settled back down for the night; Sleep however didn't come easy, it was more of an awake night than a sleep night, and by the time morning came he was wide awake and excited when Janice arrived with his breakfast. He did feel a little sad as he had his oats, thinking of the days he had spent here, in this barn, and how much Janice would miss him but he soon perked up, and with satchel over his head, he made his way up to the top of the meadow and freedom. He stood on the ridge above the valley, looking towards the distant horizon and Emily.

       He spurred himself forward, he could almost feel the reins around his neck as he galloped onwards, forever, onwards. He first stopped at a small brook, and it was from this brook that he set his barings. He must go left, left towards the mountains, the border and finally to England.
He crossed  over bridges, scrambled across rocks, paddled through trickling brooks, he came upon a great lake not far from the border and rested in the near by woods till  the morning came again.
And with morning came the rain, it rained for two days solid, Henry was cold and very wet. His tail and mane became tangled and there was no Janice to groom him. Should he turn back? Could he turn back? He stopped in his tracks, he truely was on his last legs but by the following day, the sun had replaced the rain, the grass smelt and tasted clean and fresh. Everything in the world was fine again. 
Time went by, days went by, Henry plodded on. No more the graceful stallion but more like a cart horse. The day soon came when he could go no farther, he sat down to rest, he was exhausted. His heart sank as he caught sight of his reflection in the cattle trough,  he had burr's stuck in his mane and tail, somewhere he must have picked up a scratch for specks of blood, were dotted down a ten cm scratch on his left fetlock.
Sleep drifted over him and he had another restless night in the open.
He was very surprised to hear singing as he woke up, he was leaning up against an old oak tree and the head of a young boy was bobbing up and down as he struggled to get the burr's out of Henry's mane.
"What on earth have you been doing with yourself Henry?" he said between pulls, "and why are you so far from your home?"
Henry couldn't believe his eyes, there was the young groom who had looked after him at the Wincanton Races last Easter.
"Well I can see you have been travelling for quite some time, and I think I can guess were your going!" he smiled. "But we can't have you going to see your lady friend like this! Now can we?"  he said, as he took the last burr out of Henry's mane. "Now let's get those last few burr's out of your tail and  we will make you as good as new in no time."
And without another word. Henry began to be restored. He couldn't believe his luck, Jaimie the groom just kept on and on, till he had Henry back to a full Stallionetic image again.
He lifted his head and moved it from side to side in appreciation, neighing loudly and even whinny-ing to the four winds he was so delighted.
"And now you look a bit more like a stallion of breed and not a carthorse, used to pulling a drey of coal." he frowned and added, "not that I'm critizising the drey horse, oh no, not me, where would we be with out them!" he exclaimed.
"Right now Henry. You follow this here track for about three days, don't take any short cuts otherwise you will need grooming again. Right?" Henry nodded his head.
He gave Jamie a nuzzle and started along the track that ran along beside the river. This he did for the three days and three night, food was good eating the blackberries and sweet grass, strawberry clover and the odd bit of hay he found in the farmers fields left out for the sheep.
However his heart was beginning to sink again, he really did think he could, or should have caught sight of Emily by now. Maybe she was already hitched, he hadn't thought of that in his haste to see her. Although Jaimie hadn't mentioned it.
His heart sank as he closed his eyes... It was late, he was tired........  then just as Henry was about to drift off to sleep, in that very moment he heard in the distance, a sound ...... " ----ry."
He opened one eye, then the other, lifted his ears, "what was that?"
"......nry."     The sound got closer and closer, then to Henry's surprise. Can you guess who came galloping over the crest of the hill? Emily, it was Emily galloping directly towards him.
"Henry, Henry!" she whined as she snuggled up to him, her nuzzle all floppy and loving,
smothering his nuzzle as they poured out their love for one another uncontrollably.
And can you guess what happened next ?

YES of course you can.

 They lived happily ever after.

                  For William. Hugs and kisses, Seli.  aka  
Dorothy Milnes Simm©2008

THIS POEM AND THE PICTURE COME FROM
milnercom.blogspot.com

One more drink tonight as your gray stallion rests
Where he lays in the reins
For all of the speed and the strength he gave

One more kiss tonight from some tall stable girl
She’s like grace from the earth
When you’re all tuckered out and tame

One more tired thing the gray moon on the rise                         
When your want from the day
Makes you to curse in your sleep at night


One more gift to bring we may well find you laid
Like your steed in his reins
Tangled too tight and too long to fight

Another idea given to me by one of my friends on the web,
it is nice to write these short stories for all to see.
Diddily  August 08



 MARGARET MAY

        "Well my dear," she said as she bent over my twisted torso. "It looks to me as if you have got yourself into a right old pickle, doesn't it?"

        I opened my mouth to talk but she either didn't make sense of my mumbled words of pain or was too deep in thought as she looked this way and that along the empty platform.
      "Hm, it does seem like we're on our own my lovely, so we better decide which is the best way to go about it.  I just can't understand how you managed to do this all by yourself!"
       "It wasn't easy! " I answered and managed a small smile, or was it a grimace, could have been either.
      "My mother always told me I could never do anything by half."

    "I do believe she might have been right my dear , now let me see." she frowned, "hmm  that arm doesn't seem very sure of itself.  I think that shoulder bag will have to come off."
With that my rescuer turned round and picked what could be described as a Mary Poppins bag on the bench, obviously huge and very full, and therefore heavy, I smiled at her comely face. The next second she was inside the bag rumaging until she came out with..... no not a hat stand, this looked rather more like a huge pair of crimping shears, why you youngsters carry such heavy bags is beyond me." she looked at my face before continuing, "now
no need to worry my dear, these have been used many times before, and never let me down."
I closed my eyes "I wonder where?" I thought,
      "Now hold on to what you can, this might jolt a little when the arm drops, but the pain will soon go!

      I buried my chin deeper into my chest  as the strap was cut and the arm secumbed to the force of gravity and joined my shoulder again.
  It was a good job that my sounds were suppressed,  for the words that I
uttered into the bosoms were certainly not related to Brahms Lullabye.
      "There you go" she said moving the arm a little as she walked to the front again, there was a  slight click and she was right the pain did stop.
        "Now before we go on, my name is Margaret May, though my girlies do tend to call me Aunty May," I smiled, somehow I imagined her as an aunt, though the name Margaret Rutherford did spring to mind.
       
        I made to move my leg and only succeeded in sending a seering pain up my left side.
"Now now child, don't be hasty, nothing ever comes of being hasty."

       "Oh my goodness" I grinned to myself, now I was a bloody hobbit being chastised by treebeard,
I laughed again at my own thoughts, she smiled and nodded her head. Her little bonnet hat danced on her forhead.
       She left me again and wondered to the far end of the bench,
"I don't suppose this varmint will move." She said as she put her weight against it, but not even a shudder emitted.
"Nope, I didn't really think it would, when they were put here in the forties, they were put here to stay, out live the lot of us, and that's for sure;"
She went quiet,  "a-! ha, I see now!"

     Quietness, then the soft clinking sound of metal against metal, and a thud, as whatever was being undone was dropped to the floor. I just lay there, there was nothing really I could do but let her get on with it.
        "Will you just look at that, the stupid beggers have put the scaffolding through the bench cos they couldn't move it."
I tried to raise myself up to look but it wasn't to be; As I moved up one way, my legs ends moved the other. I let out a little squeal.
"There, there, soon be over pet,"  she said with a big smile on her face. "Now I know were not delivering of a baby, but I think this might be a good time for you to pant; I want to make your legs and bottom a unit again  for they do seem to be a little wayward."
    She sighed, and sighed again. "Now do take my advice and try to take some nice deep breaths, for it will hurt a bit, but without everything following everything else so to speak,  we won't get you out."
She tutted, then looking over my shoulder she added. "But whatever you do my dear don't try to stand up or you'll be down there on the underpass.
I gulped, and immediately wanted to look.
"Now, now you stay nice and still. "
Then without another word her big hands were addressing both my legs and I was reunited, as she called it.
"Keep still, keep still ....... don't wriggle and don't lean back or you'll have us both down there..... she wrapped her arms under my armpits and across my chest, a quick flip and I was stomach down , head on seat over the back of the bench.
"Hold tight to the sides that's a good girl."
I did what she said without a word, she came to the front and stood there with a smile on her facce.
"I always say; weigh up the situation before diving in and I think I have  delivered enough babies to know the best way to get the rabbit out of the hole."
       She began to laugh, chuckling to herself as she came to help me with the rest of my deliverance. It was all over in a flash; she picked me bodily from the bench, turning me round and about, I think there might have been an upside down in there somewhere, but next minute I was back on the seat, the way I had started before my hat had been knocked off by a wayward piece of scaffold. I sat there exhausted but relieved.
Going round the bench again, Auntie May Rutherford collected my bag and the piece of strap she had cut, she also picked up a pretty blue beret.
"I don't suppose this belongs to you, my dear." she said holding it up in the air. " It goes well with the mitts your wearing."
She looked at me and grinned. "I suppose this is the reason for your little entanglement with the bench and the scaffolding ?"
I nodded sheepishly, but she carried on without waiting for the reason.
"It was a very stupid thing to do, putting scaffolding around a hole, even if it does reach from the floor below.  Never mind you're safe and sound now and I guess, " she glanced at her watch, "Goodness me I shall be late home"
A huge smile crossed her face. "Well my dearie, I must be off home now. I'm expecting a couple of my young girls to shed there babes tomorrow, daresn't be late getting up."
And without another word she  nodded her head and turning towards the exit  she was gone.
       
        Me, well I sat there for at least ten minutes; beret in one hand, broken strap in the other. I felt extremely dirty and smelt like a greasy frying pan. Walking down the steps to the underpass, I stopped at the bottom of the  scaffolding. I smiled to myself.
"Yes, it is rather a long way up." I said to the empty space.
I continued to smile all the way to the hospital, I wondered if Margaret May would ever come to the Queen Elizabeth. It would be nice to see her again.

The idea for this short story was thought up during my Writing Group, we had to express a few different emotions, not quite sure what mine were now.
I think it's turned out pretty well, I hope you like it!


Seligor. 24th September© 08



Oh Shenandoah!

       Hello there,
       
        Who am I? Well my name is Dodie, I am a Mistress of the Web.... No not a Spider, they have eight legs. I, on the other hand, or should that be foot, I have two.
Actually I spend many a long hour sitting at my computer, writing stories and poems, making playlists and anything else that comes to mind at the time. This tale however, although mostly true is a bit on the sad side, so I will give you a few moments to get your hanky or tissues.
        
           It happened a few weeks ago to my good friend, well she wasn’t an especially close friend, but we did share quite a few good times together.
Her name? I don’t think you will have heard of her but within the “Crazy Writer’s Society” she was known as Sherry Merry.
This had nothing to do with her drinking Sherry or even with being merry, for more often than not she was tearing the male populous to pieces, from Prime Minister down to Mr. Jones. Ty Bach Tut, that lived next door to her, poor man.
Talking about tut-ting, I am digressing already so to cover a long friendship into a few paragraphs, I will begin.

      Ms Shenandoah Meredith Evans,  for this was her full title, was the only offspring of an Irish Mother and a South Walian Father, two characters themselves. Her Mother Colorado (Mary)Liffy Evans, gave, her daughter, the name Shenandoah.   Why, I hear you ask? It seemed that even though she was full blooded Irish, Colorado had always wanted to go to The United States, to become American, It never happened, she called herself Colorado and then she moved to Wales, just as the war was ending, in the hope of catching a Yank to take her back to America. Of course she never met her Yank, instead she moved up to North Wales and met Gwynfor Meredith Evans, and the rest is obvious, a year or so later along came Shenandoah.
   
      Shenandoah was not happy with her name, she never had been, Guarenteed, whenever she was introduced. .  she was always met with . . . .  “Ah Shenandoah, as in the river I presume,” which eventually gave our Sherry a phobia of water and especially bridges.
Getting her to cross a bridge, sober or awake  while walking was practically, no definitely impossible and so it was a vehicle across or the long walk round.
Which reminds me  of the time we went on holiday with a few mates, unfortunately we left it up to one of the guys to do the booking and it was going to be "The Most Wonderful Surprise, Girls."
      Oh it was. I'll never forget the look on her face when we landed at the Marco Polo Airport,  dear Peter had only booked us ten luxurious days in the Antony Hotel in Venice of all places, it truly was a disaster, and I doubt whether the poor guy ever walked without a limp again.
But that was another story, some other time maybe.

          Like myself, Sherry Merry being born in 1944, was a child of the 60’s, We actually met in Rhyl of all places, though I must say it was a lot cleaner and more fun than today. I was working on the Dodgem Cars, in the Kiosk taking the money off the lads, and Sherry was going out with a very strange creature called Steve. I did find out later when we met up again that she was only going out with him because he had a scooter, a Vesper I think she said it was.

        We met a few times, she got a job selling rock along by Twigdons and I went into tattooing down by the Marine Lake. Then I married at seventeen and we drifted our seperate ways. Only briefly seeing each other at the Cavern in Liverpool, or was it the Lecarno in Manchester, it's not important.

          Her parents it seems still lived in North Wales, but had moved up market a little and had bought a house in Llandudno. Boarding place, not sure if they're there any more mind. Anyway that was the last we saw of each other until two years ago, when she moved to Ponty.
          It turned out that she didn't marry her Vesper Steve. Instead Shenandoah Meredith with her abounding love of the stars, had gone on to take a collage degree in Astronomy and after meeting her soul mate there, her life was made. She carried on with her career and by the autumn of 84 she was an astronomer par excellance, married and with a doting husband who also loved the stars, in fact one could say they lived thier  life with their head in, and, beyond the clouds.
         Many a night they spent on their backs where ever there was a good view of the heavens and life was perfect. Until that fateful night when, although it wasn't the best night for star gazing there was supposed to be a passing by of some satellite or other and Russell, the husband, who found all the best places to lie down, took her to this  small overhang up the side of Cefn Caves. There were many other reasons for not going out that night apart from the lack of stars. It had rained almost non stop for two weeks, this had made the grass extremely wet and slippery  and even though the small tarpoline was laid, it was a task getting there and climbing back down was going to be really hard work.
         But after listening to Sherry's encounter of the evening, in all it's gory detail. It didn't take them as long to get down as it might.
"Imagine," she continued, "One minute we were backs down, elbows up, binoculars to the ready,   Russell saw the satellite and jumped up, kinda quick like."
Shenandoah took out her hankie then and began to cry, she couldn't continue at that point, but I know she wouldn't mind me relating the rest of the story to you now.
             So it was, Russell sprang up, and began to slide. The tarpoline also began to slide. Russell grabbed for the closest thing, which just happened to be Sherry's legs. Next second they were both plunging to earth, by the quickest route. Russell hit the ground before Sherry, who was still holding the tarpoline, which the doctors say possibly saved her life, that and the fact that she landed directly on top of Russell.
She didn't attend his funeral, it was some while till they were able to remove the brace from her neck, shoulders and back, but she could walk, slowly and with her head constantly bent looking down at the floor.
Her neck had been broken, she gained a couple of stone whilst recouperating and waddled more than walked. Life would have been at an end for most, but not Sherry Merry.
 Oh no, she couldn't stargaze so much but she was fast becoming a connoisseur of peoples shoes. 


She had dreams, one of them to go on a trip up to the stars in the space shuttle. She applied, but even though she had the money, ( insurance) her weight and the neck problem stopped her being excepted. Without a doubt, dearest Sherry was never going to be a real Mr. Spock... come to think of it I too have a dream, but I think the chances of meeting a real live dragon in Pontybodkyn are very slight, if not highly improbable.

;Anyway - so life changed a great deal for all of us after that, we did have the odd few days here and there as Sherry became the 17 stone she was the day of the accident, though I find I am shaking my head at the memories of the caravan holiday in Llandudno, You really don't want to know, so I won’t go into detail, except to say the guy looking after the chair lift up the Great Orme, was in hospital for five weeks and the bruising on Sherry padded b t m , lasted a few weeks longer She had no luck with men, not really, poor darling.

; And so to her demise, it’s rather a sad ending and again it was bought about by, a combination of food and men, loosly speaking so to speak.

We had all decide, that is Sherry Merry, Cynthia, Joan and myself,; to go to our favourite haunt out in the country for a meal and a drink, not far from Llandudno but far enough to make sure we wouldn’t come across any one who was in the fateful chair lift.

       We entered the premises of the public house. Jeremy greeting us with "Hello Girls," and Sherry mumbled the same "piss off", under her breath Cynthia found the table and perused the menu Joan put the Great Pretender on the Juke box along with a few more old Queen hits,  I went to the bar for the drinks, two G and T’s for Joan and myself. An OJ for Cynthia, she was the designated driver and had the best car to fit Sherry's form as well as exceedingly good shock absorbers.   Sherry was having her usual pint of guinness with a splash of blackcurrent, another of the traits she picked up off her mother. 

Sherry, pops her bag on the table,  and makes the gesture to say she's off to the loo. Me, I was still at the bar but I heard her flip flopping past me as she wobbled towards the loo, eyes fixed firmly on the ground in front of her.

  Jeremy, had the builders in making a smoking extension beyond the end of the bar, only a small encloser for the smokers who were no longer allowed inside. But enough to  have the warning sign and scaffolding.

Hearing Jeremys words I turned towards Sherry. Tray in hand, I could almost hear my scream before that of Joan and Cynthia's.

Unfortunately from Sherry not a sound. Chin on chest, she didn't see the sign till it was too late, in fact I don't think she saw the sign or the footing till it was all over, and then it was too late.

She fell forward into the footing, at the same time as she grabbed the scaffolding.  The large piece of tin which was hanging up between the bar and the loo, with words stating for users to us the other W.C whilst repairs were carried out, I don't think she saw that at all.

It all happened in a flash. The piece of tin dropped downwards like a guillotine towards the waiting neck of the unsuspecting Sherry Merry who was still trying to gain her balance. Her body  did a perfect belly-flop into the open footing.  Her head however continued to roll down the gully , very much like a ten pin bowling ball towards the skittles.

I dropped the tray, Jeremy fainted, Joan who didn't really get phased by anything, made the sign of the cross, and Cynthia drank both gin and tonics.

I wish I could have shown you the wonderful tributes that were placed in the newspapers, they were all very sincere but it is not easy to say, "Sherry and her head were reunited in the undertakers." Without a small smile crossing the lips.

The funeral was a grand affair, every one of us getting quite merry and recalling our different adventures. Of course there wasn’t any men invited to the breakfast feast, and feast it was, all the food that Sherry loved most and that was nearly everything. Many tunes of the Sixties were played along with many more relating to the stars.

This all happened a few weeks ago, and I thought, better put it into print before I forget the details. Oh yes we did manage to persuade Joan from playing Queens theme tune from the film Highlander. I thought the track, "Don't loose your head" a little inappropriete" Hey ho back to the P.C. I suppose.

Night,

;XXX Dodie XXX



dragon bar


Just a few tracks I have joined together from the wonderful
video's that all the amazing people have sent in to Youtube,
They are a class act and no mistake with such a knowledge
of many types of music and film.
These are not for the little ones.



Golum's Song. Bishunmoo. House of Flying Daggers. Crouching
Tiger, Hidden Dragon. The Warriors. Genghis Khan. Dances
with Wolves, Highlander, Boromir Death Scene, Star Wars.

dragon bar


Buy English and Japanese Guide Books, Artbooks, Magazines and more at Play-Asia.com

Dunhams Woodland Nymphs

Woodland Nymphs have inhabited the British Isles for centuries, with a deep spiritual connection to some of the most ancient species of tree. The Dunham Nymphs were likely to have been here long before humans made their mark on the landscape. They would have fought vehemently to protect their territory, taking advantage of the superstitious nature of medieval man, haunting the forests and creating mischief where they could.

 How the Dunham Nymphs got their Antlers

The Nymphs at Dunham didn’t always have antlers, like most Woodland Nymphs they had a crest. However the Dunham Nymphs lived in harmony with the Dunham Fallow Deer sharing the forest and all its wares. A mutual respect was held between the Nymph King TBC and the Great Stag TBC and although they were not obvious allies they had a common interest in the preservation of the Forest & Parklands.  It is said that a neighbouring herd of Deer had invaded the Dunham estate and this culminated in a huge stand off between the Great Dunham Stag & the Lead Stag of the invaders. The rut continued for days until finally the Dunham Stag was fatally injured. He retreated to the trees to see out his final painful hours and it was here that the Nymph King used his mystical healing powers taken from the Great Oaks to nurture the Great Stag back to life. He returned to his herd just in time and fought and won a final rut to maintain his place at the head of Dunhams Fallow Herd.  

That Autumn oak leaves fell and when spring came the following year the oldest oak in the park only bore leaves from 2 of its 3 limbs, in this same year the male Dunham Nymphs developed antlers in the exact same way as the resident deer.

Folklore suggests that the lost limb was the scar left from the magic needed to save the Stag, and that the Antlers were a spiritual gift from him to the Nymph.  Sometime later the Nymph King who had saved the Stag died and the following spring, another Limb died on the Gnarly Oak.  Today the single limb represents the unity between the deer and nymphs of Dunham and their eternal allegiance.



site  zoomshare