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Harry E Wheeler Posts: 171 Joined: 3rd Feb 2008 Location: Australia | Posted at 09:15 on 3rd July 2008 Hi, Chris & Sarah... Rest assured that Immediately I and my wife return fron our overseas trip - the first REAl holiday we've had in almost fifty years of marriage! I will definately make a subscription...please stay afloat until after the 13th. September...I have many more poems to share. Meanwhile, allow me to display the first few paragraphs of my new novel. It is based on the memories I have of my childhood when my family lived in Dorset. It obviously begins quite dramatically...this, from my recollection of witnessing Hiroshima...albeit, two years after the event, although my story's cataclysmic event could be a clashing of planets...anything...It does have a happy ending. I would genuinely appreciate any comments - good or bad.
Here are those words: AUTHOR…….Harry E Wheeler. © _____________________________________________________ PART ONE Chapter 1 A blackened mantle of cloud hung high and motionless over all the major cities, their populace now destroyed. In the suburbs and regional districts it wasn't much better. At least some of the trees remained standing, though without foliage. Tarred trunks and branches, scorched black from the intense heat, their branches grasping out into nothing. The heat that was almost one hundred and seventy times hotter than the surface of the sun, and the instantaneous flash of light, brighter by four and a half times. The remains of buildings – constructions that everyone thought indestructible protruded upward along the horizon, like obscene gnarled hands. Twisted skeletons of steel girders stripped bare of the masonry that once held them in place. Timbers that formed forty percent of carefully assembled sections of homes and offices and hospitals and shops, nor any other such building, were now nothing more than burned-out charcoal. Glass from the windows became deadly slivers, embedding themselves in anything in their paths. The rushing wind sucked doors inwards from the pressure, trapping inhabitants within four walls. The firestorm sped rapidly across the country, devouring helpless wretches as it seared its instant destruction across the landscape.In a second the temperature of all the rivers and lakes had increased by thirty degrees, destroying all but the hardiest of riverain creatures. Shallow streams became vapourised, sucked up into the atmosphere, leaving behind hardened, black, licorice-like scars. Human skin temperature was, in a split second, forty degrees higher. Those who survived suffered horrendous burns to the uncovered parts of their bodies, leaving raw flesh to become viscid and suppurated. Agonized bodies lay rotting where they had fallen, some taking as long as a week, finally to expire. Who could help them? The remains of hospitals and clinics could not cope with the hundreds of thousands of injured, even if there was staff to offer aid. The rest of civilization as Joshua Higgins once knew it had disappeared in an instant. Few, if any, would have survived the instantaneous, momentary, incredible heat.Now it was freezing cold, with an intensity one could only find in the far reaches of the poles, but there was no ice or snow; nor whiteness of seasonal frost. And there was the rain; the black, heavy pungent mixture of precipitation and ash. He had seen nothing like it before. It was fine and persistent descending columns of magma, each precisely and geometrically vertical to the other, as they fell on the black earth with a continuous hissing. The only other sound came from the plump scabrous, gray rats, their horrific squeals cutting the air as they scavenged for morsels of decaying human flesh. This catastrophe was nothing new to the fiercely resilient mammals that evolved from some sixty-five million years ago in the mists of the Cenozoic era. These were creatures that had the ability to survive where man could not, except perhaps at the Arctic and the Canadian Province of Alberta. Finally they made their way across the North Sea to Britain aboard the trading schooners from Norway. No birds sang, no dogs barked; there was no laughter of children, no sun, moon, or wind. At first, the wind had arrived with almighty ferocity seconds after the first explosion, louder and more frightening than the explosion itself. Then it had stopped …like a sprint runner exuding extraordinary energy, to then come to an abrupt halt. Total devastation followed. It was as though the earth had turned itself inside out and the coldness and loneliness of the grave was now on the outside. * * * * * * It all happened three weeks ago. Joshua Higgins had barely survived.He now stood, shivering, on the heat- bleached rocks of what was once a beautiful look-out overlooking the English Channel and several of the Southern counties. The ruins of historic Corfe Castle stood not too distant to his left. The remnants of the castle remained crippled and arrogant between two sloping barren hills. The first Castle was a timber built fortress, erected by the Romans as a lookout for impending armies in the 9th. Century. It was devoured by fire, and two hundred years later rebuilt with local Purbeck stone; a marble-like stone that eventually found itself in many of the grand houses throughout the country. Cut slabs of the marble-like stone hauled by tilly whims onto freighters anchored in the deep inlet below, intended for ports around the coast.Vestiges of the thousand year old magnificent castle that survived the Civil War four hundred and fifty years earlier now defied the wrath of this modern day catastrophe stood gaunt and silent among the ash.Below the castle, the village of Corfe was little more than rubble. Joshua squinted, looking to the east, forcing his eyes to penetrate the gloom, and as far as he could make out, all the surrounding landmass had suffered a similar fate. Somehow, a strip of coastal land, running a hundred metres from the cliff’s edge, lay unaffected, except for some patches of grass, scorched by the radiant heat. He wondered if the ghosts of the dinosaurs that roamed these coasts millions of years earlier had given protection to the footsteps left behind in the hard rock. Perhaps this stretch of land endured its share of suffering during those wretched years of the Black Death many years ago. ** ** ** ** ** ** It was less than a month ago when Joshua stood in this spot, but time meant nothing to him any more. It was the weekend that he returned home from his London office to the tiny village of West Moors in the beautiful county of Dorset. My beloved Dorset, he thought, as he tramped across the burned-out countryside. The English county so revered by the poet, Thomas Hardy. The bird and wildlife sanctuaries, and its historical links with the past two-thousand year, and the Vikings, who tried to invade, only for their ship to sink off Poole harbour. Wareham, and the Jurassic coast, so named from back in time, when dinosaurs roamed and hunted their prey across the reaches of countryside that stretch from moorland to sea. He would be away from his wife, Eve, and his children for several months on his next assignment “Darling, do you have to be away for so long?” Eve, begged. “We’ll miss you so much.” She was slight, and fitted snugly into Joshua’s arms as he drew her to him and gently kissed her on her forehead. It was a kiss that made her eyes sparkle. Her white, smooth calves glistened below her silk housecoat as she went up on her toes. Her tousled, golden-brown hair bounced mischievously on her shoulders as she looked up at her husband with pursed lips. She knew he would have to go, and if it was possible to return sooner he would do so. “I’ll soon be back, you’ll see,” he reassured her, squeezing her waist. “Come, help me pack,” he laughed, pulling away and taking her by the hand. It would be the last time they made love.
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MariaGrazia Posts: 711 Joined: 25th Mar 2008 Location: Italy | Posted at 11:31 on 3rd July 2008 Thanks Andy, for sharing your thoughts. He must have been a great father, but I can clearly understand that you must have been a good son as well. It is somewhat odd and almost paradoxical how I can see myself in those images, despite my father is still alive and things have always been the other way around for us; the typical successfull business man never at home, a mountain always too high to climb for me, and his chair empty was routine rather than exception. Now that he's 79 and recently diagnosed with Parkinson, you can easily find him in his chair. He needs to take his time to do things now, no need to chase him to get his attention anymore. He now likes being entertained by family and we talk at length about everything. The mountain has become a mild hill to my eyes now, but all I can think of is the time wasted, and that the chair will be empty soon, again. |
Ray Stear Posts: 1930 Joined: 25th Apr 2008 Location: UK | Posted at 11:35 on 3rd July 2008 Hello members of the great POE I am trying to catch up with all the latest posts so forgive me if I have not commented and should have done, or, have commented when I should not have done! I thought some of you might be interested in this short story. 'Powers of Observation? Every Monday I teach IT at a Day Resource Centre, dropping off the laptops I use, at another centre for, another tutor. As I struggled into the the centre, festooned with laptops and various hardware, a senior member of staff said. 'Hello Ray, can I introduce you to Diane, a new member of staff starting today?' I looked at the woman, Diane. I thought 'She looks familiar.' She smiled at me as she shook the hand I offered her. 'Hello Diane. How are you enjoying your first day?' 'I feel a little strange, but I am enjoying it very much'. Hmm, she really does look familiar I thought. I said 'Where did you work before?' 'I worked at Kettering General Hospital.' Came the reply. 'Oh right' says I. I have seen you, or worked with you before somewhere haven't I? Where did I last see you?' Whist this conversation was going on, the woman looked more and more amused. What is the matter? Have I not tucked my shirt in, zipped my fly, or am I wearing odd socks? A quick look down. All seemed to be in order. the woman's smile broadened. 'You last saw me this morning as you left your house. I am your next door neighbour!' The senior member of staff, listening to all this with a total look of disbelief on his face said.'how long have you and Ray been neighbours then Diane?' ''Three years' said Diane, wiping away the tears of laughter from her eyes. 'You don't exactly live in each others pockets then ? Said Paul, the member of staff, looking with pity at me. I started desperately to try and rescue myself from this black hole that had suddenly opened up in front of me. My mind in overdrive, trying to phrase a reply 'Seeing you out of context' and such things going through my head. In the end I chose to just step into the hole and the oblivion I richly deserved. I smiled sheepishly and said weakly 'Well, fancy that!' Have you ever wished you could rewind, erase, and record. I did!. Ray.
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| Ray Stear Posts: 1930 Joined: 25th Apr 2008 Location: UK | Posted at 11:57 on 3rd July 2008 Sorry Guys, not reading previous posts: I feel that I have made a 'faux pas' with my contribution. I agree with all the foregoing about losing loved ones. My father too: there are so many things I should have said to him and didn't. I think the worse thing is that when they are gone, you regret not hugging them and telling them how much you love and respect them. That is the thought that re-occurs I must confess. When I last saw my father, terminally ill with cancer, who had lost his voice, such a bitter irony for a man who had a wonderful singing voice, I could only gently stroke his face tentitively, as if doing something that had never really been encouraged in my family. Ray. |
poe  Posts: 1132 Joined: 26th Oct 2003 Location: England | Posted at 12:02 on 3rd July 2008 Harry - I really enjoyed reading the extract from your novel. I'd only just finished reading an article about the Tunguska Event in todays mail, so it was certainly keeping on theme with that, which was quite bizarre really. Andy, that was a really beautiful poem, thank you for writing it. My dad died 11 years ago, yet i still dream at night that he's alive, then wake up to heartbreak again realising that he's not. Sorry to hear about your dad Maria, that's so sad. We wish him and you all the best. |
| Ray Stear Posts: 1930 Joined: 25th Apr 2008 Location: UK | Posted at 12:11 on 3rd July 2008 Maria, What a beautifully expressed and moving tribute your wonderful Dad. And your reflections on how things were past; and are now. Awsome! Ray |
| poe Posts: 1132 Joined: 26th Oct 2003 Location: England | Posted at 12:12 on 3rd July 2008 On 3rd July 2008 11:57, Ray Stear wrote:
Ray, i couldn't agree more. When they are gone, you regret every last second that you could have spent with them but didn't, and you regret not telling them enough just how loved and special they are. My dad knew I loved him deeply I am sure, but i still want to go back and tell him again, and show him more love than i did. |
| Ray Stear Posts: 1930 Joined: 25th Apr 2008 Location: UK | Posted at 12:12 on 3rd July 2008 Andy, An amazing and heatfelt poem. Take care mate. Ray |
| Ray Stear Posts: 1930 Joined: 25th Apr 2008 Location: UK | Posted at 12:13 on 3rd July 2008 Harry, Great writing. Ray. |
Diana Sinclair Posts: 10119 Joined: 3rd Apr 2008 Location: USA | Posted at 14:11 on 3rd July 2008 I too shall be making a contribution very soon I can assure you. This is such a lovely site and all the work you do is much appreciated Chris and Sarah.  |
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