ISSUE 314 Date: 29th November 2013

LIFE OBSERVATIONS Why does the first heavy frost come as such a surprise? 25th December. Christmas Day. It comes at the same time every year: it is not a moveable feast. So in theory it should be easy to plan for, and to spread the expense involved in buying all those unnecessary presents given to rela-tives you only see once a year and can’t stand anyway ... Why don’t they sell Mid Winter Feast Cards for those who agree with winter celebrating but don’t have any personal modern religious belief? For thou-sands and thousands of years the Pagan Mid Winter Feast of the winter sol-stice was called ‘YULE’ and held on 21st Dec. The promise of the return of the sun, surely that’s still worth celebrating ... What is it with dust? Why is it so attracted to electrical equipment?

Issue 314

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Rani n (Ranee) Wife of a Rajah Hindu princess or female ruler in India. Can

mean lady or queen.

Denigrate v To criticise so as to besmirch; traduce, disparage or defame.

Germane adj relevant, suitable, related to topic

Exhort v strongly urge to do something; give earnest advice

Otiose adj not effective, no useful result, worthless, of little value, lazy and

unwilling to work

Tenebrous adj dark, murky, obscured by shadows

Make shift adj rough and ready, improvised, temporary

Vexillology n The study of flags

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gallery_of_sovereign-state_flags

This is a wonderful page of every flag imaginable.

Flag of Iceland

Abeyance n suspension of activity, a conditional in which legal ownership

has not been established

Flag of Sweden

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Random Words: blue, Rose, traumatic, bewildered, purpose, quarry, breaking, sea Assignment: Feast

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=79

Mr. Body was not happy when he left the fortune teller. Why had he allowed himself to be talked into making the visit? The prophecy concerning his health was playing on his mind as he walked along the river bank. Even the sight of the patterns made by the precipitation of rain on the water did not improve his mood. Arriving on the High Street he entered the first shop he came to. Ignoring all the consumer goods on display he made for the music department where he bought the glockenspiel he had always promised himself. With such a bleak future foretold he was going to make the best of it. He left the shop and glanced up at the sky where he saw a rainbow which caused him to smile with relief - a sign, the fortune teller had told him, that things might not be so bleak after all. EL Her fingers were turning blue as Rose watched the traumatic scene unfolding before her very eyes. She was totally bewildered by the vehement cries and could see no purpose in the man hunt through the village. Their quarry was

long gone. The breakers were swelling and breaking over the sea wall and she felt certain that distant sail making for the horizon was where the posse‟s victim had made his bid for freedom. SMS

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OTHER PEOPLE’S HOUSES by PAMELA CLARE-JOYCE

Other people‟s houses - Oh, Lord,- other people‟s houses! How on earth can they

be so perfect, so pristine and frequently so boring, so inhuman? Okay, not all, but far too many.

Admittedly, I have experienced the other sort, one belonging to two friends, a Victorian Villa, uncarpeted, bristling with packing cases, pieces of wood and assorted items of furniture, all booby traps on which to bark your shins and stub your toes; a

dusty, fusty, musty heap of a house, a totter‟s paradise which seemed so appropriate as they lived in a district called Totterdown! Nevertheless, how welcome they made me,

feeding me with glorious meals, a place where I could relax and enjoy the feeling that, for once, I had found a home worse than my own!

Mother-in-Law‟s domain was something else, a dark, mouldering compost heap of a house with an actual compost heap in the kitchen! Battalions of festering saucepans, filled to the brim, like the sink, with greasy, scummy water and suppurating scraps,

lined every work space. Books, unread, probably for a century, surrendered to time un-der layers of dust and the seven high heap of Ewbank sweepers must have been kept

for sentimental reasons because none of them worked! It does not seem surprising that after one visit, when I was shocked to find the place had slid even deeper into squalor,

we all came down with food poisoning! Perhaps one can go too far in laissez faire! Generally blithely self confident and gung ho, I wither under the dread bubonic

plague of house inadequacy. Visitors imminent, I tidy, I clean, hating every excruciating

minute, knowing full well that not only was the operation desperately necessary, but also not half as much of the gargantuan task as the one I have built up in my mind, not

that this revelation makes the task any more palatable. Detritus free surfaces are a relief, for a brief spell anyway, until the next collec-

tion of bits and pieces alight everywhere, but the floor, having an endlessly shedding black-haired dog, are an interminable labour of Hercules. Clean for a minute, don‟t hold your breath, for the next second it will be besmirched again.

So, how do people manage to present such pristine splendour, those acres of mark free, lint free, perfect carpeting, gleaming tiles, neatly bare surfaces as far as the

eye can see, with dust banished permanently, for I am utterly baffled? How is it there is never a newspaper, a notepad or a book out of place, never an item of clothing draping a chair, nothing on the floor except the floor covering? It truly blows my mind!

Don‟t they ever read, paint, knit, sew, write, move about, LIVE, and if they do, why don‟t they make the total dogs‟ dinner that I do? Do they stand at the ready with

vacuum cleaner, duster and polish and swoop to abolish every impudent, intruding speck into oblivion, for if they don‟t, then I‟m bewildered.

Maybe it is self-justification, but how can they live in such a way, for I find these sterile domestic palaces incredibly off-putting and intimidating? They seem to encapsu-late that ultra limited mindset that precludes relaxation, creativity and a fine disdain for

the material. Nevertheless, sometimes, just sometimes, I have a pang of longing that for once, just once, my home may stay in a similar state of pristine glory for more than

just a few minutes, and that assumes my home could ever remotely meet such a stan-dard, a vain hope I fear!

Would I swop, however? No I would not, because just as they would go insane living with an untidy slob like me, I would equally climb the wall having to fit into their anal retentive ethos. To each his own I guess or that‟s my excuse and I‟m sticking to it!

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GIFTS BY PAMELA CLARE-JOYCE

for Barkat

Our gifts are touching minor

Demonstrations - little

Offerings in lieu of words

Of love, sweetmeats, tiny savouries

To underline our differences

On our tastebuds.

Small cross-cultural exchanges

To say how this is me and mine

That make forays of discovery

A sweet experience.

Tentative ways to say

Know me, this is what I am.

We learn together,

And we find the learning

Loving in a basic way.

2013/14 Poetry Business, Book & Pamphlet Competition

Dear poets, There is now just over a week to go until the deadline of the 2013/14

Poetry Business Book & Pamphlet Competition.

Your entry should be on its way by last post on Friday 29 November,

or sent online by midnight on 2 December.

If you can, please help us to spread the word about the competition

by forwarding this email to your friends and contacts, or by using the

social media links above.

The 2013/14 Poetry Business

Book & Pamphlet Competition

Judge: Carol Ann Duffy

The annual, international Book & Pamphlet Competition invites entrants to submit a collection of 20-24 pages of poems for the chance to win a

cash prize and publication by Smith|Doorstop Books.

Four first stage winners are selected and given the opportunity to submit

a full-length manuscript to the second round of the competition, in

which one of them can win book publication. The three first-stage win-

ners receive pamphlet publication. All four winners will receive an equal share of £2,000, and have a launch reading at the Wordsworth Trust.

Entry costs £25 (or £20 for anyone who is a Friend of the Poetry Busi-

ness, a subscriber to The North magazine, and/or a member of the Poetry

Society).

The winning collections are beautifully produced, widely promoted, re-viewed in high quality poetry magazines and national newspapers, and

entered for all eligible awards and prizes. The collections are launched at

high profile readings and distributed via bookshops across the UK. Con-

sequently, many previous years’ competition winners have gone on to

achieve glittering careers; including Mimi Khalvati, Michael

Laskey, Patrick McGuinness, Allison McVety, Pascale Petit, Kathryn

Simmonds and Catherine Smith. In the words of Anne-Marie Fyfe, the

Book & Pamphlet Competition has been “one of the career milestones for very many poets of note”.

The judges Carol Ann Duffy is the Poet Laureate. Her many books include Meantime

(Anvil) and The World’s Wife and Rapture (Picador). Her many awards

include the T S Eliot, Whitbread, and Forward prizes, and her work for

children has won the Signal Award (Collected and New Poetry for Chil-

dren appeared in 2009 from Faber). Her plays include Loss and Casa-nova. She is Professor of Contemporary Poetry at Manchester Metropoli-

tan University. Carol Ann’s most recent book is Love Poems (Picador).

Ann and Peter Sansom are directors of The Poetry Business and editors of

The North magazine and Smith/Doorstop Books. Ann’s publications

include Romance and In Praise of Men & Other People (Bloodaxe) and

Peter’s include Writing Poems (Bloodaxe) and Selected Poems

(Carcanet).

Enter the competition To enter the competition, first read the terms and conditions here and find

the FAQs here. Entries can be submitted by post with an entry form, or

online using the form.

Walking Stick A walking stick can be a helpful friend, won‟t let you down, in time of greatest need. When all else fails, and driven round the bend, a trusty cane will get you back to speed. With attributes as wide as stick is long, to pick things up or move from here to there. To show the way or stand out in a throng, you may just find it‟s best to have a pair! To keep you fit and stand up tall and straight, It may remind how you should place your feet. Helps others know that they might have to wait, in giving time as you walk down the street. Now I must go, it‟s time to have my tea, but where‟s that stick? It was right next to me!

The Charge of the Light Brigade

Half a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,

All in the valley of Death,

Rode the six hundred.

'Forward, the Light Brigade!

Charge for the guns' he said:

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

'Forward, the Light Brigade!'

Was there a man dismay'd?

Not tho' the soldiers knew

Some one had blunder'd:

Theirs not to make reply,

Theirs not to reason why,

Theirs but to do and die:

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

Volley'd and thunder'd;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

Boldly they rode and well,

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of Hell

Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,

Flash'd as they turned in air

Sabring the gunners there,

Charging an army while

All the world wonder'd:

Plunged in the battery-smoke

Right thro' the line they broke;

Cossack and Russian

Reel'd from the sabre-stroke

Shatter'd and sunder'd.

Then they rode back, but not

Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon behind them

Volley'd and thunder'd;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

While horse and hero fell,

They that had fought so well

Came thro' the jaws of Death,

Back from the mouth of Hell,

All that was left of them,

Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?

O the wild charge they made!

All the world wonder'd.

Honour the charge they made!

Honour the Light Brigade,

Noble six hundred!

"The Charge of the Light Brigade" is an 1854 nar-

rative poem by Alfred, Lord Tennyson of the Charge of the Light Brigade at the Battle of Balaclava during

the Crimean War. He was the poet laureate of at the time of the writing of the poem.

Tennyson's poem, published December 9, 1854 in The Examiner, praises the Brigade, "When can their glory fade? O the wild charge they made!", while

mourning the appalling futility of the charge: "Not tho' the soldier knew / Some one had blunder'd ...

Charging an army while / All the world wonder'd:".

According to his grandson Sir Charles Tennyson, Ten-nyson wrote the poem in only a few minutes after

reading an account of the battle in The Times. As poet laureate he often wrote about public events. It

immediately became hugely popular, even reaching the troops in the Crimea, where it was distributed in pamphlet form.

Although Tennyson's subject is the nobleness of sup-porting one's country, and the poem's tone and hoof-

beat cadences are rousing, it pulls no punches about the horror of war: "Cannon to right of them, /Cannon to left of them, / Cannon behind them / Volley'd &

thunder'd". With "into the valley of Death"

Tennyson recited this poem onto a wax cylinder in 1890.

Lord Tennyson 1869 Wikipedia image and source material.

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NB

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Disease And Pest Resistant Varieties.

When my Potatoes started to develop Potato Blight after the

exceptionally wet Spring/Summer, I hurriedly cut off the tops

in the hopes that the potatoes under the ground could be

saved, which they were. It’s a trick that might have prevented

the Potato Famine back in the 1700’s, or whenever it was, but

it only works if the Potatoes have developed enough under the

ground to be worth harvesting. It seems that everyone on the

site who had planted “Earlies,” did alright, but the “Lates,”

were too small and useless on those plants that had to be cut down. However, there

were a lucky few plot-holders who had actually planted Blight resistant varieties

anyway, of which there are many, and of course their potatoes were not infected.

My two rows of Tomatoes, which were foolishly planted next to the potatoes, were

also struck down with Blight. There were no ripe tomatoes, but the row of earlier

developing, yellow, “Golden Sunrise,” did yield a reasonable quantity of green to-

matoes for chutney. As a high proportion of outdoor Tomatoes would normally be

expected to end up as chutney anyway, the crop was not a total disaster.

There is always a lot of talk of Blight Resistant varieties of Potatoes, but I had

never heard of resistant varieties of Tomatoes, so when I looked the seeds up on

the website of one of the larger seed companies, I was surprised to see that many

varieties are actually listed as being Blight resistant. Knowing the persistence of

Potato Blight in infected soil, I had thought that I wouldn’t be able to grow either

Potatoes, or Tomatoes on the site again, but this is obviously not true, as all I will

do is simply buy resistant varieties for planting next year. I will however, dig the

compost that has been made from the infected plant tops, back into the infected

part of my plot, to limit the spread of the spore like, viral infection.

Previously when I had thought about the fact that the Allotments are supposed to

be an environmentally friendly, or Organic site, and no chemicals are permitted, I

had decided to try “Companion Planting,” as I did with my Carrots, to prevent

some diseases, but after finding the resistant varieties of Potatoes and Tomatoes, I

found a Carrot called, “Flyaway,” that resists “Carrot Root Fly.”

Further investigations revealed that the Bean family can be prone to the Mosaic, or

“Cucumber Mosaic Virus,” and again, I found that there are many varieties of the

whole family, with all the different types of beans, whether they are Runners,

Climbing, French, or Broad, etc, that are resistant to the Virus. After some more

careful reading I discovered that many seed varieties of all types of vegetables are

bred to be resistant to the most common problems that affect each particular type

of vegetable, so it is not just a case of buying any old packet of cheap seeds that

happen to be on offer. On an Organic site especially, a little more thought needs to

go into selecting the right seeds to grow, not only for the preferred plant character-

istics, but also to prevent problems with pests and diseases occurring that are diffi-

cult to deal with, without resorting to lots of chemicals, when they do.

Autumn Has Come.

At last the Dwarf French Beans have started to flower and set, but it is so late I don’t know if

they will really do anything. Both the French and Haricot beans had to be re-sown as the first

sowing didn’t germinate at all in the wet Spring soil. However, the Haricot did start to set beans

some weeks ago and although the plants are very short, they have some nice, big fat pods on

them. Hopefully the Autumn won’t be as wet as last year when a lot of the pods rotted as they

ripened and dried.

The Runner beans picked very well, but are now getting a bit tough as their growth has

slowed down and some of the leaves have been caught by the cold nights we have started to get

occasionally. On another site that I go to, only a few miles away, the Runners have pretty much

been taken altogether by the cold with the plants looking very sad. Both my Climbing Blue

Beans and Yellow climbing Goldfield, did well, but even now, the Yellow don’t seem to be get-

ting tough. One problem everybody has had with their beans this year, is the strong winds.

Where the rows of Beans have been put up East/West, people haven’t had such a problem, but

like my Climbing Beans, some rows were put up North/South and the canes have been pushed

over badly by the winds. The Soya Beans, that I experimented with, have grown well and are de-

veloping nice little pods, although the leaves on the plants look lice lace curtains, because the

caterpillars have been at them. The pods are quite short and fairly hairy, but otherwise look just

like any other bean pod. The question I am faced with now, is when will they be ready for pick-

ing and what do I do with them when they are picked? Not surprisingly, I suppose, I haven’t

been able to find a single reference in any old gardening books to give me any advice!

TV gardeners are talking about an early/long Winter this year, so late developing crops such

as my Cape Gooseberries are questionable as to whether they will do anything at all before the

frosts get them. The plants are in flower now, but the berries will take weeks to develop and

ripen before they are ready to pick. Last year I was still picking at Christmas and it was in the

New Year before I finally cleared the last of the plants!

With the approaching cold, I have covered my Oca, or New Zealand Yam plants with a

homemade Hazel Cloche to extend the growing season for a few weeks in the hopes that it will

provide enough extra, late warmth for them to develop their tubers. The Sweet Potatoes have

been under a fleece cloche most of the season, but they must be a little more delicate as when I

looked, some of the younger leaves were already suffering from the cold.

Autumn is the time to pick nuts and the Hazels are ripening on the trees, although I actually

picked the nuts from my tree at home some weeks ago, when they were still green and only just

starting to turn. We found out some years ago that if they are left to ripen on the tree, many nuts

will fall as you pick them and then can’t be found amongst the leaves. It is so much easier to

pick them while they are still in their husks and finish ripening them in the house, but you do

have to remember to pick up the box holding them every day and shake your nuts around a bit to

get the air round them, or else they will go mouldy. From our single

tree we get just over one pound of nuts each year. I have a number of

small Hazel trees that I was hoping to plant on my allotment, but I

don’t know now as a Squirrel has been seen on the allotments. Having

said that, the squirrels only like ripe nuts and if the nuts are picked be-

fore they ripen, the theory is that you get them before they do!

Many people know that most of the Gunpowder Plotters were killed or captured at Holbeach House, near Dudley, in south Stafford-shire. But what were they doing there? This essay attempts to an-swer that question.

This famous engraving shows eight of the plotters: Robert Catesby, who was the leader and inspiration of the enterprise, Thomas Percy, Guido Fawkes (who at this stage of his life did not answer to the name "Guy"), the two sets of brothers, John and Christopher Wright and Robert and Thomas Winter (more properly, "Wintour"), and Bates. Four other major plotters are missing from the picture: Robert Keyes, Ambrose Rookwood, Francis Tresham and Sir Everard Digby. What had these men got in common? They were all Catholics, driven, as they saw it, to desperate measures because King James I, who had seemingly promised to relax the penal laws against Catholics, had now reverted to strict enforcement. (At that time, ruinous fines were imposed on anyone refusing to attend Church of England services, and any Catholic priests who were caught were liable to be tortured for information and then executed). Of the twelve men, Guido Fawkes, a Yorkshireman, had been a mercenary soldier in the Spanish service, Thomas Percy was a relative and dependent of a great noble-man, the Earl of Northumberland, and Thomas Bates was Percy's servant, which is why he was only given a surname in the picture. The other nine were all landowning gentry, mostly with property in the Midlands, related to each other by a complex network of marriages between the old Catholic families. Everyone knows the story of how the plot was betrayed to Lord Mon-teagle, a Catholic nobleman (probably by Tresham), how Monteagle then passed the message on to the King and his chief minister, Robert Cecil, and how Fawkes was discovered with the stock of gunpowder around midnight on November 4th /5th. But the blowing-up of Parliament was only to be part of the plot. Some of the plotters were waiting at Dunchurch, near Rugby. It was hoped that the explosion would kill not only King James but also his heir, Henry, Prince of Wales, and perhaps even his four-year-old younger son, Charles (later King Charles I). This would leave as heir to the throne James's daughter, Princess Elizabeth: just nine years old, but already with her own miniature court at Coombe Abbey, nine miles away from Dunchurch. With James and his sons dead, the plotters intended to kidnap Elizabeth, proclaim

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her as Queen and bring her up a Catholic. They hoped to spark off a mass rising of Eng-lish Catholics, and maybe also foreign intervention by Spanish troops. All this was, to say the least, highly optimistic. Any priests who got to hear of the plot were horrified and urged its abandonment, the Pope favoured conciliation with England, and King James and Philip III of Spain were beginning to negotiate the peace treaty which they both wanted. When the plotters learned of the arrest of Guido Fawkes they would have been well-advised to abandon all their plans and take cover, but many of them still hoped that part of the plot would succeed. They accordingly fled back to their power-base in the Midlands and seized war-horses from Warwick castle, and also a supply of gunpowder, in the hope of starting an armed rising. Not surprisingly, only a handful joined them, including John Grant, Henry Morgan and a Staffordshire landowner, Stephen Littleton. On November 8th most of the group were trapped at Holbeach House, Stephen Littleton's home, by 200 men under Sir Richard Walsh, the sheriff of Worcester. In the fighting Catesby and Percy were killed and Thomas Winter, Rookwood, Grant and Morgan were wounded. The others were captured individually over the next few weeks. Meanwhile Guido Fawkes, after sav-age torture, had revealed most of the details of the plot. Francis Tresham died in the Tower of London of a urinary infection two days before Christmas. After a treason trial at which they were not permitted any defence lawyers, the sur-viving plotters were sentenced to the full penalty for treason, which was execution by hanging, drawing and quartering. Accordingly on January 30th 1606, Digby, Grant, Bates and Robert Winter were dragged by sledge to St Paul's churchyard and, one by one, par-tially strangled on a rope, then castrated, disembowelled and cut into pieces. The next day Guido Fawkes, Thomas Winter, Keyes and Rookwood suffered the same fate at Old Palace Yard next to the Houses of Parliament (not, of course, the present building!) There were other executions in other parts of the country: Stephen Littleton and Henry Morgan being executed in Stafford. Holbeach House still stands: it is now a care home.

There is a final ironic twist to the story. Little Princess Elizabeth, who was intended to be the plotters' puppet, of course never did become Queen. But when she grew up she mar-ried a German Protestant prince: Frederick, Elector Palatine. In 1714 her grandson be-came King of England as George I, thus ensuring a Protestant succession to the throne. All later British monarchs are descended from her.

AUSTERITY AND WELFARE REFORM:

ITS DIRE CONSEQUENCES ON MILLIONS OF PEOPLE IN THE UK

The Fairy Story That Has Gone Viral

Every single person appears to believe the myth put out by politicians through the media, about Austerity and Welfare Reform. Well I believe none of it at all. It is also obvious that news in print or television is little viewed by the public, by their lack of knowledge about how millions are effected by Austerity, Welfare Reform, Pensions Bill and even more by the Flat Rate Pension coming into law from 2016. Austerity Does the Opposite of its Intention in a Recession Austerity is put forward as a solution to recession. The recent use of Austerity came from a Research Paper published in 2010 by Harvard University Professors in the USA. Since then an American stu-dent has disproved the Paper. USA‟s Present Roosevelt‟s invested to help

people with his New Deal during the Great Depression of 1929. Welfare Reform Actually Caused the Deficit The cruellest myth in modern history is that the poor, sick, disabled, unem-ployed and old committing the unpardonable sin of living too long, were the causes of the deficit of government debt, with the hoary old chestnut of political propaganda of „spending beyond the state‟s means‟. The deficit of national debt was caused and is still being caused by welfare reform. How? The private contracts cost the taxpayers hundreds of billions of pounds and add to the debt year on year, not lessen it. People getting benefit and state pension are „borrowers‟ of their own money, not other taxpayers‟

funds. How? Income tax only brings in 26p in the pound of personal taxation to govern-ment. Fully 75% of all taxes from people are paid through Indirect taxes / VAT that everyone pays, in or out of work and however long we live. The lower your income, the more you pay in stealth taxes as a percentage of your money. The state pension is deferred wages / taxes from our youth and not a burden on anyone else. How My Experience Shows The Truth of the Myth of Welfare Reform and Sheer Waste by DWP

Filled and sent a 50 page form and received back a letter not eligible for contribution based benefit as did not work last two tax years, ignoring 30 years of national insurance contribution in work. So sent a further 50 page form and received back a letter not eligible for income based benefit either when the basic tax allowance is more than 50% above my works pension.

Issue 314

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Then calamity struck: One thing I did find out was that the DWP computer automatically notifies the HMRC computer when a person is claiming a benefit. However, I am not sure if there is a way for the computer to indicate that the person isn‟t actually being paid any money. ACW

http://you.38degrees.org.uk/petitions/stop-the-welfare-reform-death-scandal-3

Stop The Welfare Reform Death Toll Scandal!

http://calumslist.org/

Truly shocking: Calum‟s List is a list of names and newspaper articles from across the UK in which benefit claimants adversely affected by welfare reforms have died, many at their own hand.

Source: http://www.housing.org.uk/policy/welfare-reform/bedroom-tax

What is the Bedroom Tax? ...

The bedroom tax, is the part of welfare reform that will cut the amount of benefit that some people

can receive if they are considered to have a spare bedroom.

Welfare reforms cut the amount of benefit that people can receive if they are deemed to have a spare bedroom in their council or housing association home. This measure applies to housing bene-fit claimants of working age from 1 April 2013. The power to reduce housing benefit in this way is

contained in the Welfare Reform Act 2012 and is commonly referred to as the bedroom tax, size criteria or under-occupation penalty.

How much will people lose?

The cut is a fixed percentage of the Housing Benefit eligible rent. The Government has said that this will be set at 14% for one extra bedroom and 25% for two or more extra bedrooms. The Government‟s impact assessment shows that those affected will lose an average of £14 a

week. Housing association tenants are expected to lose £16 a week on average. (£64.00+ per month)

How many people have seen their benefit cut? The under-occupation penalty affects an estimated

660,000 working-age tenants – 31% of existing working-age housing benefit claimants in the social sector. The majority of these people have only one extra bedroom.

Issue 314

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Year 1564 : The Cast : The Queen‟s Men : a group of strolling players thrown out of London where the theatres have been closed due to an outbreak of plague. Elizabeth I was on the throne. Kit Marlowe (wordsmith/detective), Harry Swann (the murderer of the-first victim who first found the chal-ice) Samuel Burball (Owner), Peter Pecksniff, Daniel Alleynes, young Hal who plays a girl‟s role very badly. Vesta Swann, Moll Ripp-sheet. The Boar‟s Head Tavern, Trentby: Bertha landlady, Molly Golightly, Martha Goodnight wenches. Ned the bear keeper. The Trentby Abbey of St Jude : Abbot Ranulf knows something about the missing Roman hoard of silver plate/chalice etc The Manor of Bluddschott : sodden Squire Darnley Bluddschott, wife Mistress Anne, daughter Penelope about to be sold off into matrimony, Mistress Hood seamstress, sister to Penny, Mistress Tatanya

The Sheriff‟s Castle : Magistrate Squire Humphrey Pettigrew, Black Knight, the Sherriff Burrowmere Lord Haywood, man-at-arms Richard of Hyde Leigh, a constable Daniel Smithers and a scribe Modern Day: Rick Fallon and Tommy Tip-Tip McGee** Private eyes in Trentby on case for Sir Kipling Aloysius Bluddschott (Sister Christobel) to locate silver chalice and Roman hoard of Trentby Abbey + corpse Jago Swann DI Pete Ferret

PLEASE NOTE: It is imperative that those writing for the storyline read what other writers have already written before they add a new piece.

Harry Swann Legging It But First Saving His Immortal Soul ACW „Father, Father, Are you there?‟ „Yes, my son. Put the cover over the lantern quickly.‟ The priest and Harry Swann walked under cover of night up hillside wild forest, nerv-

ously looking about them for fear of discovery of Catholic priest and believer, for such was not permitted under the Queen‟s Protestant laws.

Once in the cave, Father Bartholomew unlocked a mine entrance door and they quickly passed through, shooting the bolt behind them.

The priest unlocked what appeared to be a large cupboard, which revealed within a se-ries of fold back hinged doors that turned into a triptych, revealing an altar and a confes-sion box.

Harry went into his side of the confession box and began, „Forgive Me Father For I have sinned, and went on to recount the dread deeds of woe and violence against cut-purse, carefully omitting his found treasure trove and his switch of identity with his would-be thief.‟

Once out of the confession box, Harry took out of his leather packhorse pannier bag the silver Chalice.

„Father, may the church plate be returned to God as some hope of redemption of my immortal soul.‟

„May God have mercy upon your soul, my son. You are absolved of all your sins and your penance lightened to saying three Hail Marys.‟

„Thank you so much, Father.‟ Right quick all was put away and they went off into the moonless night, parting ways

at the crossroads, where Harry awaited the mail coach to the port and away to freedom of the open seas and life free from money-lenders and waspish wife in the sunny climes of West Indies colony, where finally his treasure trove could bring him a life of ease, far away from prying eyes and fatal pestilence gripping the land that no physician knew to

save from the grip of lingering excruciating death. At the Abbey remains. 'Doesna' look ta' me tha' anythin' f' us here Rick,' Tip-Tip said as they stood in the

grounds of what the signboard said was: Trentby Abbey. 6th to 16th Century. Dissolved by Henry VIII. Now a part of Trentby Minster and

The Collegiate Church of the Bleeding Heart Looking over the manicured, flattened, ground Rick said, 'You could be right there Tip-

Tip, but this is the only place we've got any clue about. That note Lavender got from that Archive place said there was a pub and a bear pit, but it looks like they were buried un-

der the town hall years ago. You go left and I'll go right and look for the burial grounds.'

'How d' we knaw it'll b' t' burial grounds, Rick?' 'There'll be a sign in the grass somewhere saying cemetery or something similar, or

a load of grave stones flat in the lawn.'

Tip-Tip walked off wishing he'd bought Lavender with him to do the reading but she was busy doing something else. Not looking where he going he stubbed his toe on a metal sign and then spotted a large stone lying in grass. 'Tha'll be it! Now wa' d' Rick sa'? Monks burials.' Looking around he spotted a large hole in ground 'Wa's th' hole'?'

A grimy sign, collapsing against the heap of earth from the hole, proclaimed that the 'Trentby Gas and Electricity Co.' was 'Working to improve your standard of living'! From the fine crop of grass and weeds growing on the heap, Tip-Tip doubted it and went to find Rick.

Rick had found a grounds-person; she certainly wasn't a grounds-man, who came across to the hole with them. 'We really should fill it in I suppose, but until somebody falls in it I won't get the go ahead, and I won't get that 'cos nobody ever comes over here,' she said as they stood by it.

'Trentby Gas and Electric went bust a few years ago, I forget who took over, they were going to put pipes in to what was going to be the new estate on the other side of the main road. The one that never got built 'cos the builder went belly up as well. Any-way that hole's been there since then.'

Rick asked if she knew about a box tomb. She nodded and pointed to another pile by the hole. 'That heap of stones over

there. I've been told it's not really a heap 'cos the archaeologists carefully placed them there, has three box tombs somewhere in it. Depends on what you want but there's pictures in the booklet in the office, that one costs two quid. Though there'll be more detail in the site works record, which is kept in the Chantry. A copy of that'll be a bit more'n two quid though!'

As there was nothing more they could do, not in broad daylight anyway, Rick and

Tip-Tip went back to the office and spent £2 on a booklet. 'Got t' receipt Rick'? Tip-Tip asked him as they climbed into an ancient but not, ac-

cording to the mechanic who kept it going, venerable, Austin Princess, the firm‟s only car.

Rick nodded. 'Yep, and a map of the grounds that fell into my pocket. Might be use-ful. Later on.'

Molly Golightly was in a dilemma. On the one hand, she was thrilled to bits with the

beautiful gold comb bestowed on her by her lover. (Oooh! She quivered with excite-ment at the thought of her having a lover!) There was nothing she would have liked better than to flaunt it in front of all those dull fish wives and their pot-bellied, ale-swilling husbands. That would turn a few heads. And the women would be so jealous! Jealous not only because the comb was quite clearly both handsome and expensive, but also because she was the recipient of such an objet d‟art from a gentleman ad-

Editor Notes to Tambourine Contributors ... It would be greatly appreciated if all contributing writers could please remember the following: Do not leave a line between paragraphs Use 14pt Tahoma if possible Indent first line of each new paragraph One space after a full stop not two Punctuate speech with „ not “ Punctuate speech! Do not centre headings Do not underline anything If everyone followed the above guide it would save hours of editing. Thank you.

mirer. Well, maybe it was pushing it abit to call Harry Swann a gentleman, but hey, the second part at least was true. Harry was a man, and everyone knows, beggars can‟t be choosers.

But no. Molly quite clearly saw that it would, sadly, be a bad idea to show off her prize. Ned had a foul temper, and obviously ask questions. She could tell him she‟d found it, and he might be stupid enough to fall for it. He was pretty stupid. All that muscle and brawn. But she couldn‟t take the chance. The other women would be sure

to plant thoughts in his thick head. The men would ply him with strong drink, and taunt him and goad him into action. No man likes to be cuckolded. No. She would have to keep her own counsel. The floppy mop cap she wore at work would do nicely. She could still wear the trinket and cover it discreetly, so that no-one need ever know. A frisson of excitement made her shudder at the thought of a secret passion, and her cheeks flushed. She checked herself in the cracked mirror of the humble cottage she shared with the bear baiter, and smiled.

„Why, it‟s hardly surprising Moll girl, that you are irresistible to the opposite sex. You‟re a fine figure of a woman. M‟dear! Your husband‟s not worthy of you, and if he doesn‟t look after his little wifey properly… well there‟s others as would be happy to!‟

Harry Swann.

Harry blinked and scratched his not inconsiderable head. Who would have thought that old sarcophagus would have turned out to be a treasure chest? When he‟d sunk to the ground, slightly unsteady, and leaned against the roughhewn horizontal funeral

receptacle in the crypt of Trentby Abbey, he‟d noticed that the stonework was looking abit the worse for wear, but he‟d thought to himself that the unfortunate individual in-side was most likely in much worse condition. Something had caught his eye. A small hole in the carving of the eye, so that if Harry moved his head, it almost looked as if the thing was winking at him. At first he‟d shivered, and the hairs on his head had stood up. It was creepy and Harry wasn‟t the bravest of souls. But on closer inspec-tion, something inside was gleaming and catching the light, such as it was in such a dark and dismal place.

Harry had put his eye to the stone carved eye, and sure enough, there was a shiny reflective object in there. Harry went out into the night, found a stick and poked it into the hole…. And something clicked. The apparently solid structure shifted slightly. Harry gave it a helping hand, and there before him was, not a dead body, nor even a skele-

ton, but heaps of gold coins, bowls, jewels and a burnished metal chalice. Acquisitive by nature, Harry wasn‟t one to look a gift steed in the mouth, or ask any questions. No indeed. He stuffed his pockets with as much as he could of the sarcophagus‟s contents, and pushed back the stone slab, carefully checking that it was left ex-actly as he‟d found it, to ensure that no one else would discover his cache. He patted the carved head of the figure. „I will be back‟, he told it, as he staggered out into the darkness.

He headed off down the lane. „A jug of ale at

the tavern, to celebrate my good fortune‟, he said out loud, completely unaware that his words had been overheard by someone else.

The inn was warm and bright, after the dingy crypt. It was odd, he mused, how much more agreeable things were when he had a few coins in his pocket. Even the rosy-faced barmaid, Moll looked good to him.

„A comely lass, that Moll.‟ Harry licked his lips as she grinned at him, and winked. He paid with one of the gold coins from the hoard, and her eyes almost popped out of her perfectly round head.

„My! You come into some money?‟ Heads turned at her exclamation. Harry thought on his feet, which was difficult for a

man who had a job to stand without keeling over under the influence of ale.

„Er no. I sold a horse‟, Harry explained. „Oooh. Didn‟t know you had one!‟ the barmaid retorted. „There‟s a lot you don‟t know about me!‟ Harry added, mysteriously. „Maybe I‟d like to know more….‟ Moll flirted. Harry wasn‟t the greatest catch in

Trentby, but he was here, and her husband wasn‟t.

„What‟s a girl to do?‟ she reasoned. And anyway, Harry Swann had apparently got money from somewhere, and Moll wasn‟t too fussed from where.

„Asketh no questions…‟ was her philosophy. Now Harry knew Moll was married to Ned. And Ned was a big bear of a man. Not to

be messed with. But he also knew she wasn‟t particularly happy and more important, Ned was not in town.

„My Ned is away, baiting some bear or other‟, she‟d informed him. Besides, the night was cold and long when you had to spend it alone, How much nicer to snuggle up to Moll‟s ample bosom and warm himself on her….!

She must have read his thoughts. „Meet me outside at half of the clock‟, she whispered, and her hand lighted for a

split second on his.

The straw in the old barn was prickly and got into awkward places as Harry unbut-toned his breeches. But Moll‟s buxom thighs soon made him forget his discomfort. Her arms wrapped round him like a boa constrictor and held him so tight that he had trou-ble breathing. But he lay there, entwined with her, and his head reeled from liquor and passion and excitement and weariness. When it was all over, he fell back in the hay and sighed. Reaching into the pocket of his topcoat, he withdrew a solid gold comb, and placed it in Moll‟s long, dark and unruly hair.

„Whatever…?‟ Moll couldn‟t finish her sentence. She stared in amazement. „Where….?‟ She began.

„Asketh no questions‟, Harry told her, the words coming out slurred. „Yes, that‟s what I say…‟ she told him, „….but….‟ „I told you there‟s more to me than meeteth the eye, and there may be more where

that came from, for my secret sweetheart. Is that going to be you, Moll?‟ he asked, grinning.

„I should hope so! This is our little secret!‟

„Two secrets in one day!‟ Harry thought to himself. And what a day it had been. Surely all his lucky stars must have aligned at once.

Harry may have been a lucky man, to have accidentally unearthed the treasure. But what Harry wasn‟t was a clever man. He wasn‟t good at keeping his mouth shut, espe-cially when in drink, which was much of the time, and when he finally rolled home in the early hours of the next morning, a good proportion of the inhabitants of Trentby had had their curiosity aroused and were aware of Harry‟s sudden good fortune.

Issue 314

Page 20

My Lost Poet this week is a Canadian Modernist who was part of the Montreal

Group. His poetry has been described as sometimes Metaphysical and at other times Imagist. It is his Nature poems that explore Canada‟s landscape that interest me, his best

known poem The Lonely Land was inspired by Frederick Varley‟s painting Stormy Weather, at a Group of Seven exhibition in 1926 (see next page), but I am getting ahead of myself.

Arthur James Marshall Smith was born in Montreal and whilst I can find very little about his childhood, it is noted that he came to England to study from 1918-20 and it is during this period that he discovers the latest thinking in poetry that moves away from the Victorian

poetic ideals and sees the rise of Modernism.

Modernism in Canada was virtually unknown at this time, the first Canadian Modernist col-

lection was published by Arthur Stringer with his collection Open Water in 1914. This was hailed at the time as being the first free verse collection to come from a Canadian Poet, but was not linked to Modernism until much later.

When Smith returns to Montreal he enrolls at McGill University and by 1924 he is the co-editor and writer for the McGill Daily Literary Supplement, a year later he co-founds with

F R Scott the McGill Fortnightly review. The Review attracts many young writers such as A M Klein, Leon Edel and Leo Kennedy, the group was to become the Montreal Group, who

developed and promoted the ideals of modernism in a cultural background that was en-trenched in Victorianism.

Smith‟s poem the Lonely Land, written in 1929, was inspired by Varley‟s painting. Varley

was one of the Group of Seven Painters whose haunting landscapes with their distinctive visions capture the spirit of the place. The Canadian vast tracts of isolation, snow wastes

and tortured forest. I had the pleasure of seeing these paintings at the Ottawa National Art Gallery in 2004 and have loved them ever since. They encapsulate as an artistic image, the

genius loci, leaving you with the unnerving feelings of remoteness and disconnection.

My lost poet this week is

A.J.M. Smith (1902 – 1980)

Smith‟s nature poems are most often described as being Imagist, taking the ethos of getting inside an object

and sharing its uniqueness, internalizing to discover the spirit of the object, rather than the place in which it exists.

His poem – “To Hold a poem” is the first indication of this move towards internalizing his view point and much of his Nature poetry is concerned with experiencing the world through objects and the relationship to the other aspects of the landscape. This differs from the Metaphysical view which externalizes, making comparisons be-

tween the object in relation to other objects. Smith however wrote poetry that explored these different themes. He had studied the Metaphysical poets such as John Donne and his early work.

Smith in both his Imagist and Metaphysical poems seeks to put an order into things, whilst he describes the

action, energies and forces at work in the landscapes, he is seeking to put the meaning and structure into these worlds. Smith to some extent goes beyond the theories of the Imagists, who see the role of the poet

gaining an intellectual synergy with the object and describing what is found through the experience, but purely focusing the object. Smith goes beyond this and internalises thought.

Smith received his Doctorate from Edinburgh University in 1931. From 1936 he is promoting the poetry of other

poets and is the co-editor of New Provinces an anthology of the Modernists. It is at this time that he takes up the post of Professor at Michigan State College a position he held until his retirement in 1972. He became a

naturalized American but spent his summers in Quebec. He was to become known as not just a poet but also a scholar who published many books and essays that brought Canadian Poetry to a wider audience.

He died in Michigan in November 1980. It was noted that he made a great contribution to the improvement of

Canadian literacy.

Links: Anne Compton’s Essays on A.J.M. Smith

“AFTER THE EBB-FLOW”: A.J.M. SMITH’S NATURE POETRY http://www.lib.unb.ca/Texts/SCL/bin/get.cgi?directory=vol14_1/&filename=Compton.htm

Patterns for Poetry: Poetics in Seven Poems by A.J.M. Smith

http://canadianpoetry.org/volumes/vol28/compton.html

Roderick Wilson Harvey Essay on A.J.M. Smith

“To Hold in a Poem”: Tension and Balance in A.J.M. Smith’s Verse

http://www.canadianpoetry.ca/cpjrn/vol11/harvey.htm

Michael Darlings Essay on A.J.M. Smith

A. J. M. Smith’s Revisions to His Poems http://www.canadianpoetry.ca/cpjrn/vol11/darling.htm

Ken Norris’ Essay on Canadian Modernism

The Beginnings of Canadian Modernism http://www.uwo.ca/english/canadianpoetry/cpjrn/

vol11/norris.htm

The Group Of Seven – Links to websites on the Group of Seven Artists.

http://www.mcmichael.com/collection/seven/index.cfm

http://archives.cbc.ca/arts_entertainment/visual_arts/

topics/754/

Image : Frederick Varley's Stormy Weather

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