SEEN by Marjorie Lacy.                                                     

“C”,   Sea,   See,   Seen and  Scene.

 

“C” is the third letter of the alphabet,

Curly C   not,   kicking K.

Or,  you could say to the burglar –

  1. I. C. U !!  (Oh! I see you.)

 

“Sea” is what we ‘Oh I do

Like to be beside’

Paddling!, bucket and spade

Donkey riding!!.

 

“See”, as in

“I can see you there, behind that chair”.

 

“Seen” as in

“Children should be seen but not heard”.

Or, “Have you seen the  ****  on that?”

 

“Scene” is what we want to see

When we are on holiday.

Or, we could have a ride on the Scenic Railway

on a spectacular Steam Train.

Or, “You’re making a scene, be quiet’

 

“C”,  Sea,  See,  Seen and Scene.

 

There is of course, obscene – but we won’t mention that!!

 

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NOTE:

This piece was written for a writing competition of 500 words. You were asked to select a verse from Shakespeare’s works and build a story around it. The word count, put restrictions on the detail you could get in, I have given you my original work and this revised one. My work did not get anywhere in the competition!

My choice was from Cymbeline, Act 111, scene iii.

“Then was I a tree

Whose boughs did bend with fruit, but in one night

A storm or a robbery, call it what you will,

Shock down my mellow hangings, may my leaves

And left me bare to weather”.
Things can’t get any worse

It had been a hard day at work, then I was home at last. There were heated words exchanged between my husband and me. Not the best of days; I decided to ‘leave him ‘to it’ and have an early night, I showered quickly and was into bed for 9 o’clock I turned the radio on, but they were playing rubbish music so I switched it off. I was slow to fall asleep, going over in my mind, the whiff of perfume coming off his clothing when he stamped passed me. Had he got someone else?

When I awoke in the morning, my head felt muzzy, I did not feel quite ‘with it’. I could tell my husband had already left for the office. Still not speaking then? A cup of coffee and a bowl of cereals put an end to my rumbling tummy. In the bathroom, I washed my face in cold water, gave my teeth an extra firm brushing. Then went to get dressed and look ready to face a routine day in the office. I picked up my handbag,  and phone shot out of the front door and into the car…. CAR…. What car?? It was not there, I groped in my bag for the keys, no keys either! That bloody husband’s taken my car!

I mentally shook myself and forced myself to think slowly. I walked down to the gate and looked both ways. Then shock, amazement – halfway down the street the large oak tree that had stood there for centuries, was laid across the road. Buried underneath it,  a car! A red car! Was it my car? I closed my eyes, when I opened them again, I had not dreamed it. There were Police and Firemen, how had I not heard all the commotion?

My neighbour came over to me. “The Police want to talk to you,” she said, I nodded. She put her hand under my arm and walked me over to them.

The burly Policeman towered over me. “Is this your car Madam?”

It was squashed under a tree and almost unrecognisable.

I said ”I did have a red Ford car on my drive last night, but I can’t tell what make of car that is”

“Madam don’t be so aggressive, there are two bodies in that car.”

I calmed down rapidly, “Do you know the registration number?”

The world swam before my eyes as I heard him say my car’s number.

It was my car, he had just confirmed it. I felt my knees buckling the Policeman came closer and supported me. Cold rage flowed through me. The bloody husband had got her in the car, my car!

I heard my angry voice shouting, “What am I supposed to do? I’ve got to get to work, there’s shopping to be done, the kids to be collected from school and I have No Car! No bloody car, and now I’ve got no bloody husband!”  As I collapsed to the floor, my thoughts were that without my car, I’m as naked as that tree without its leaves.

 

NOTE:

This piece was written for a writing competition of 500 words. You had to select a verse of Shakespeare’s works and build a story around it. The word count put restrictions on the detail you could get it, I have given you my original work. This is how I would have written the story if there had been no word count. My work did not get anywhere in the competition!

 

My choice was from Cymbeline, Act 111, scene iii.

 

“Then was I a tree

Whose boughs did bend with fruit, but in one night

A storm or a robbery, call it what you will,

Shock down my mellow hangings, may my leaves

And left me bare to weather”.

 

Things can’t get any worse….

 

I had had a hard day at work, then at home at last, There were hard words  between my husband and myself. Not the best of days, I decided to ‘leave him ‘to it’ and have an early night, I was showered and into bed for 9 o’clock I turned the radio on but they were playing rubbish music so I switched it off. I was slow to fall asleep, going over in my mind, the whiff of perfume coming off his clothing when he stamped passed me. Had he got someone else?

 

When I awoke in the morning, my head felt muzzy, I did not feel quite ‘with it’. I could tell my husband had already left for the office. Still not speaking then? A cup of coffee and a bowl of cereals, put an end to my rumbling tummy. In the bathroom I washed my face in cold water, gave my teeth an extra firm brushing. Then went to get dressed and look ready to face the day’s grind in the office. I picked up my bag and phone, shot out of the front door and into the car…. CAR…. What car?? It was not there, I groped in my bag for the keys, no keys either! That  bloody  husband’s taken my car!

 

I mentally shook myself and forced myself to think slowly. I walked down to the gate and looked both ways. Then shock, amazement – half way down the street the large oak tree that had stood there for centuries, was laid across the road. Buried underneath it,  a car! A red car! Was it my car? I closed my eyes, when I opened them again, I had not dreamed it. There were Police and Firemen, how had I not heard all the commotion?

 

My neighbour came over to me. “The Police want to talk to you” she said, I nodded. She put her hand under my arm and walked me over to them.

The huge Policeman towered over me. “Is this your car Madam?”

It was squashed under a tree and almost unrecognisable.

I said ”I did have a red Ford car on my drive last night, but I can’t tell what make of car that is”

“Madam don’t be aggressive, there are two bodies in that car.”

I calmed down rapidly, “Do you know the registration number?”

The world swam before my eyes as I heard him say my car’s number.

 

It was my car, he had just confirmed it. I felt my knees buckling the Policeman came closer and supported me. Cold rage flowed through me. The bloody husband  had got her in the car, my car!

I heard my angry voice shouting, “What am I supposed to do? I’ve got to get to work, there’s shopping to be done, the kids to be collected from school and I have No Car! No bloody car, and now I’ve got no bloody husband!”  As I collapsed to the floor, my thoughts were that without my car, I’m as naked as that tree without its leaves.

 

 

Exhibition of Hats from Wakefield One Museum. 17th May 2017.

The Brown felt hat with ribbon and feather!

This hat reminded me of my mun, around about 1940/1950’s. mum had a similar one. It matched perfectly the brown and green check coat she wore.

Mum would have made the coat herself; Uncle Billy, who was a tailor would have sourced the material for her and also have cut it out for her. As an ex-machinist for Montague Burton’s factory in Leeds, mum would have sewn the pieces together. Auntie Madge would have done the ‘finishing off’ of the collar, buttons and tie belt, then pressing it. – The making of the coat was a real family affair!

When mum put the coat on, she was very happy with it, then she decided it needed a hat to complete the ‘look’. We went to the hat shop on Harehills Lane, it was next door to our Doctors Surgery. Mum tried several hats on, we laughed at them knowing they were not ‘the ones’.

The milliner handed her a brown woollen felt hat with green trimmings. It was just right, the hat colours blended perfectly with the colours of the check coat. As Grandma Precious said later, ‘You look a right Bobby Dazzler!’

 

A prisoner in the bed.                                

Mary lay in bed. She looked at the clock, two more hours before the carer came in to get her out of bed. She felt bored and grumpy. Looking around the room, it seemed tired and dingy. Very little light came round the corners of the closed curtains. This told her outside it was another grey day, would spring never come?

She looked at the clock again, two minutes had passed. Her eyes focused on the plant someone had given her for Christmas, months ago. No one had watered it, now it was withered, dark and dusty, spiders had made webs through it. Why had no one thrown it away?

The radio was next to the plant, she moved to turn it on, then drew a line in the dust. Filthy, the place was filthy! She had always been so house proud, the cleaner did a lick and promise, not a deep clean like she had. There was a card sticking from under the radio, she poked it out. Squinting at it, it was the number for the office that the carer’s worked out of. She considered ringing and blasting them, telling them how useless they were. Never here when she needed them!

The strains of music burst into her consciousness. An old song, a favourite that she and Billy danced to. She fingered the silver chain and locket she always had round her neck. Billy had the locket engraved with a heart and their names. They had really loved each other, soul mates. What a long time since Billy died. This reminded her of the time they went to Bridlington when they were courting. She had gone into the Fortune Teller’s booth, to see what the cards would say about Billy. The cards talked about marriage and two or three children. Yes! She could marry him.

Her cough broke into her reverie. Where was that bottle of medicine the carer had brought in? What had she said? ‘It’s special, I went into town and got it from the Herbalist, I always swear by it’. Mary gave herself a couple of spoonfuls. She picked up a tissue and a small hand mirror, carefully wiping her mouth and then, the spoon to get rid of the stickiness.

Looking at her hair in the mirror, she could see the grey hair at the parting. Lower down, the faded auburn hair looked ready to be refreshed and her ‘roots done’. Her friend, Jenny usually came to wash and dye her hair for her. Mary felt feelings of uselessness sweep over her. In her better days, she had been so quick, so active. Now she was the prisoner in the bed. Oh! When was that carer coming? She reached for the pad and jar of pencils. She chose a pink one, ‘pink for Jenny’. Pink really suited Jenny,  she looked stunning in that pink frock from the C. and A., in Leeds. She carefully wrote on the pad, ‘Ring Jenny – hair’. The pencil point broke, Mary fished out the pencil sharpener and begun to turn it. Broken or blunt pencils really bugged her, they just had to be pristine.

Once she was up and dressed, and in the living room, she’d email Jenny. Her daughter had bought her the laptop, the best thing she’d ever had, all she had to do was lift up the lid and the whole world opened up to her, pictures, images, books to read. What would she read today? If only the carer would come, she could be up, at it and online.

Suddenly, there was the sound of the front door opening. ‘Mary, Mary, it’s me, Jean, are you ready to get up?’ Jean and a waft of fresh air breezed in, she opened the curtains and Mary’s day began.

 

Some thoughts for the weekend!!

Positive thinking and Motivational messages.

The first motivational message I ever read was when I was 16 years old and one of those ‘fill-in’ pieces in the Reader’s Digest magazine.

It read:  Two men looked out through prison bars.

             One saw mud, one saw stars.

As I got older, there were other messages coming through – of course there were the religious ones, once I ceased to go to Church. it was when we joined the American Network Marketing Company that they flooded in – words from the stage given by the American in a white suit:

If it is to be – it’s up to me.

And, of course, it is correct, only you can live your life and responsible for it.

Another one is: If you fail to plan, you are planning to fail.

A short time later, we tiring of the Americans’ hype, we joined an English Company, you will all know Kleeneze, the Catalogue Company, it is more than a Catalogue, you can build teams of distributors, their income contributes to yours. It is a wealth creation business. There we found, after training, we were the ones speaking from the front, or from a stage, giving out the motivational messages of:

Goals, plans, achievement, reward.

Perhaps the most well known one, even my Creative Writing Tutor uses it:                                                                     S- M-A-R-T. =

Specific-Measurable-Achievable-Reasonable-Timeled

A totally silly one: Nothing will suck seeds like a budgie with a broken beak.

(Suck seeds = succeeds – get it?)

Now in retirement, we are getting the rewards of a lifetime of self-employment, there is time to sit and watch the Rhubarb growing, smell the roses and enjoy our leisure.

 

Decision/Indecision

I am not really talking behind

my husband’s back, BUT

He drives me mad on a daily

basis.

 

What would you like for your lunch?

I will ask, giving him three

alternatives.

 

On my menu could be:

Open sandwich with cheese

all he has do is to say ‘please’

 

But no, he pauses. Waiting

for another suggestion, maybe

nice boiled ham?

 

Still, he waits, what about

prawns mixed with

hard boiled egg?

 

That get’s his

attention, I’ll have

the egg and prawn!

 

When it comes to

dessert, we have the same

performance.

 

Which would you like?

fresh apple? Yoghurt with jam?

or, ice cream?

 

I can see his mind,

it ticks and whirls, he would

like all three –

but, that would be greedy!!

 

Eventually, he makes

up his mind, I think I’ll have

ice cream!

 

There is no discussion,

about our after lunch

coffee!

 

My West Yorkshire Passion – DIVERSITY.

Luscious green dales fields, bounded by the jigsaw puzzle of

dry stone walls. Rivers, coming from tiny springs in the hills,

emerging as torrents of racing water power, taking your breath away.

Man’s feats of skill and back-breaking labour to build stupendous

Cathedrals, Minsters and castles. These equal the natural features

the Pennines’ crowning glories of Pen-y-Ghent, Whernside and Ingleborough.

The Vale of York’s rich farmlands and pretty villages give way to the

Wolds. They roll onwards to meet wild coastline. Some threatened by coastal erosion,

by the pounding of the sea against soft cliffs.

Scarborough and Bridlington, offer traditional ‘bucket and spade’

holidays, complete with donkey’s. Whitby, whose old Town is separated,

by the River from the Gothic Church and ruined Abbey on the hill. The town has links to

Bram Stoker’s’ book Dracula.

Yorkshire, once England’s power base and home of heavy Industry.

Which withstood a political battering, causing heavy industries to

give way to, incoming businesses of Distribution and Logistics.

Our strength now, is the diversity of peoples, from friendly natives,

to many nationalities making Yorkshire their home. Working as taxi and

bus drivers or hospital staff. Some opened ‘Take Away’ shops, causing

our beloved Yorkshire Pudding, to be overtaken by new favorite,

Indian Curries and Chicken Tikka Masala.