Towards the end of 2016, having moved to Cottingham, I joined a writing group. I had already made a start on writing a book about my career in teaching, but belonging to the group inspired me to move forward with this work.
Writers@… (writers at dot, dot, dot) is based in Hull and the East Riding of Yorkshire. We are a group of writers with an appreciation of creative writing who meet once week. We write for pleasure (some of us are published) and encourage other people to write. We write for fun, not for profit. Before the lockdown, every couple of months we published a mini anthology of work, which we called 'Sprinkles': packed with original poetry and prose written by our members: each edition had a theme. Here are some of my contributions to Sprinkles: Love in a Teacup
It was 1946. The war, not yet a distant memory, must have left many in their late 20’s or early 30’s feeling that youth had passed them by.My aunt, who had struggled through much hardship and misery in Glasgow, was visiting relatives nearby when a joiner, who was working in the house at the time, was invited to join the family for tea.
Now, my aunt, purely for amusement, would read teacups, so the joiner was cajoled into handing over his almost empty vessel. My aunt swished the cup around, emptied the excess liquid and began to study the dregs of tea (real tea leaves!) deposited around the inside.
“Ah”, said my aunt, “you are about to come into some money.”
Imagine his amazement when a week later this innocent soul won over £100 on the football pools. With wages little more than £4 a week this was a small fortune. In his excitement he rushed round in search of my aunt and invited her to the cinema.
It was the start of a wonderful relationship. They were married the following year: one of the happiest most contented couples I have ever known.
The Ferry
Approaching Colintraive for the short crossing over to the Isle of Bute I could see the ferry at the quayside just a short distance away. Would I make it? Not that it mattered much: The journey to the opposite shore took barely three minutes and the boat travelled back and forth all day carrying vehicles and the odd foot passenger to and from the island. There was a light drizzle and a chill in the air, typical West Coast of Scotland weather! As I turned into the queuing area I could hear the familiar rumblings of the engine and a clatter as the tailgate rose and the ferry slowly edged away, a shrill voice bellowing out the safety instructions through the loud speaker. Then… the strangest phenomenon - within seconds, the entire ferry disappeared completely into the mist. I blinked, strained to see, but not the faintest outline remained and not a sound could be heard. An eerie silence pervaded the air. Was it really there, just a few metres away? Had it ever been there, or, was it merely an illusion?