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Peter Evans Posts: 3863 Joined: 20th Aug 2006 Location: UK | Posted at 21:40 on 9th July 2008 Jason that was very good and very true. It also brings home to me some things that happened to me as a train driver. This is not the place to discuss those, but my heart goes out to the services that have to clean up and explain. They didnt feel a thing. Thanks mate for all the things that you , and the other paramedics, do for us. |
MariaGrazia Posts: 711 Joined: 25th Mar 2008 Location: Italy | Posted at 21:54 on 9th July 2008 Thanks for sharing such wonderful and hard words, Jason |
Ruth Gregory Posts: 8072 Joined: 25th Jul 2007 Location: USA | Posted at 04:56 on 10th July 2008 Thanks, Jason, and God bless you in your work. |
L Posts: 5656 Joined: 10th Jun 2004 Location: UK | Posted at 06:48 on 10th July 2008 Oh Ruth, love your new pic and what a tiny little Denzil! He looks so sweet!  |
Andy Edwards Posts: 1900 Joined: 14th Mar 2008 Location: UK | Posted at 08:37 on 10th July 2008 I love it too and so does Denzil! |
Harry E Wheeler Posts: 171 Joined: 3rd Feb 2008 Location: Australia | Posted at 11:05 on 10th July 2008 I certainly was not offended by the poem you presented, Jason. As I, hopefully, expressed the ugly side of human nature amid life's beauty. Your poem was true so true of life. Sometimes a choice of words, as I used in my story, "Jack Robbins, (recently displayed) and presented in the modern day idiom - are necessary to create a full impact upon the reader, that which you are portraying in your writing. I temper this statement with this alternative short story which I wrote for my grandchildren. Harry OLD RASCAL Jimmy Cork was a normal, happy seven-and-three-quarter-year-old. He sat on the river bank in his torn jeans and off-white shirt with its sleeves rolled unevenly up his arms; his brown and white dog ‘Pat’ sat licking its paw beside him. When Jimmy’s dad got the puppy from the Animal Welfare home its name was Patch, but Jimmy, being only three, couldn’t say Patch, so it always answered to the shortened name of ‘Pat.’ Jimmy watched the tiny ripples as the shallow water trickled over half- submerged rocks, placed there so that you could take the shortcut to the village. He threaded plump, juicy worms that he had dug from his dad’s veggie garden onto the hooks of his homemade rig. He tossed the tackle into the pool from the water’s edge, where the rushes stood tall and rustled in the breeze. Pat stopped licking his paw and jumped up. He playfully chased an unsuspecting waterfowl into the undergrowth. His line dangled limply from his makeshift rod, and the bright orange and white float bobbed up and down beneath gnarled branches of overhanging trees. He knew this was where the pike known to everyone as ‘Old Rascal’ would be. His dad always took him in the basket-seat of his bike to this spot when he was a toddler, accompanied by his dog, and where he spent two hours every Saturday afternoon trying to catch the elusive fish.Jimmy’s friend Danny reckoned his dad caught the huge fish once, and then he let it go. Danny lived with his mum and dad on the rich side of the village; he didn’t have any brothers or sisters so he hung around Jimmy most of the time. Danny’s mum and dad were OK, but his mum always made him wait outside the back door. He’d never been in the house. Jimmy used to think Danny’s mum had a dragon or something in the house until Danny explained that his mum had something wrong with her nose. Jimmy’s mum put it in simple terms and explained that she had an allergy and some smells made her ill. Trouble was that Jimmy felt guilty because he thought his friend’s mum thought he smelled bad. Jimmy asked, “Why did your dad let Old Rascal go?”Danny reckoned his dad said he didn’t know what he would do on a Saturday afternoon if the pike wasn’t in the river, tempting and teasing him.“Is that true?” Jimmy said incredulously; he didn’t think anyone would let Old Rascal go, if they really did catch it.“Yeah, that’s what my dad said.” Danny nodded, picking at the end of his nose. Of course, Jimmy believed it was gospel, and what did he know anyway…Danny was older than him. Danny was nearly eight now, and Danny knew everything. So Jimmy sat and pondered. I wonder if I would let Old Rascal go if I caught him, he thought, as he dangled his legs over the edge of the river bank. But sadly, today wasn’t going to be his big day. He shrugged his shoulders as the breeze changed direction and cut through the cotton strands of his shirt, and the warmth of the sun began to wane. He wound up his reel, watching the line slice through the water, jerking it several times to free it as it snagged on submerged tree roots. He emptied the last of the worms from his tin can into the river and watched as they slowly sank to the bottom. He lay on his stomach on the soft grass and rinsed the soil from the bottom of his can. Danny was proud of his tin can. He stood beside the gas-stove in his mother’s kitchen after school last Friday and watched her preparing dinner.“Mum, can I have that can?” he begged, after he watched her empty the peas into the saucepan.Jimmy’s mum gave a sigh of exasperation. “You’re not collecting more rubbish are you, Jimmy?” She smiled and rinsed the liquid from the pea tin and passed it to her son.Jimmy’s feet almost slipped from beneath him as he ran from the kitchen clutching the empty can. With a bang the door swung back against the timber jamb, as he raced down the path to his dad’s shed and hunted for the hammer. His mum said his dad never put the tools back twice in the same place; she didn’t know how he could find anything in the muddle. Finally, he discovered the claw-hammer under the heavy, red rubber work gloves on the end of the bench. “I need a nail,” he half sang and half whispered to himself. He climbed onto his dad’s toolbox and strained, reaching for the row of plastic containers and looked in first one and then another. A mouse that had taken refuge among the paint cans on the floor scurried from its hiding place and disappeared through a hole in the bottom of the shed wall. “Phew!” Jimmy exclaimed, as the sudden appearance of the rodent almost made him topple from his elevated position. He found a container of assorted nails and selected one that he considered suitable to make holes through each side of the tin can, and, by placing the inside of the can on the corner of the bench he was able, with the use of the hammer and nail, to puncture holes on either side. He would then thread a length of string through the holes to form a handle. He completed the first hole, flattening the puncture on the inside of the can – he’d seen his dad do that before he put the twine through the holes, but he didn’t know why he did it. He then hit a major difficulty with the second hole. Jimmy hadn’t allowed for the fact that the nail would be blunted by his attempts to make the first hole. He lined up the can a second time, and, with a swipe of the hammer hit down on the head of the nail. The nail failed to penetrate the side of the can, instead, it slid sideways and it slipped from his grasp, rattling to the floor. At the same time his thumb received the full force of the crushing blow from the hammer.“Yeee..ow!” Jimmy yelled, almost falling once more from his perch. “Ow…Ow,” he sobbed as he grabbed his wounded hand with his other one and stuck them between his knees, tears of pain and humiliation poured down his rosy cheeks.“What have you done now?” screamed his mother, running from the house. “What on earth happened?” Jimmy wasn’t in any condition to begin giving a detailed account of what had occurred. “Hit my thumb,” he sobbed, bouncing up and down in exaggerated agony.“Let me see,” his mother said, attempting to pull her son’s hands from where he had them, protected from further injury. NO..oo!” he cried; “it hurts!”His mother guided him; half crouched and still with his hands jammed between his knees, into the house. “You know you shouldn’t touch Daddy’s tools,” she scolded. The pain had subsided somewhat now. It still hurt but the ache had spread throughout his hand and travelled up his wrist, and by all accounts, he thought, he’d broken his arm. The tears had dried up and he could think rationally. WOW! What if I have broken my arm? I wouldn’t have to go to school, he thought. The pain was definitely disappearing now. All my friends would want to write on the plaster with coloured Textas. Someone once told him that people, old people, wrote rude things on plaster-casts and other people would laugh at it. People would think I’m old too, he thought. Mum would give me breakfast in bed, and Jenny, his elder sister, would stop bossing. Well, she always fusses her pet cat and her rabbit if she thinks they’re in pain; she’s bound to fuss me. Jimmy’s mother yanked his hands from between his knees. “Let me see,” she demanded, as he tried to resist her attempts to examine her son’s bruised and blackened thumb. She stuck his hand under the running cold tap water, and he winced as the pain began again.“Oww!” he whimpered as the icy water began to take effect. He pressed his knees together. The cold water made him want to do a pee. His dreams of all the compassion that he thought would be forthcoming began to shatter. “You’ll live,” his mother said unsympathetically, drying his hand. “You’ll probably lose your thumbnail,” she warnedhim.Jimmy became awestruck. “You mean it’ll come right off?” he stared at his thumb. “All of it?” he said in disbelief.“You won’t feel it, dear, it will happen very gradually,” his mother explained. But Jimmy wasn’t so sure. It hurt when I hit it, he thought; it will really, really hurt when my nail comes off. His mother took bandages and plaster from the medicine cabinet and proceeded to dress Jimmy’s injured hand. “There,” she said, as she finished. “It’ll be better in no time.” The following day Jimmy once again made his way to the river. This time he didn’t take his rod. He simply wanted to sit and watch. I might even see Old Rascal, he thought, watching the gadflies dipping onto the water. He was about to push through the hole in the hedge and down to the river when his friend Danny skidded to a halt beside him, jamming his sneaker onto the front tyre of his bike. “What happened to your arm?” he asked, eying the heavily bandaged limb. No one was to know that Jimmy had added more bandages. In fact they now went right up to his elbow. He made sure to leave his shirt sleeve down so that his mum wouldn’t notice the extra bandaging. “Crushed it in Dad’s shed yesterday,” Jimmy answered, sticking out his chest.“Wow! Did it hurt?” “Not much,” Jimmy lied. “Did you have to go to hospital?” Danny asked, with admiration. Jimmy was very brave to have crushed his arm, and now here he was going after Old Rascal. “No. Mum wanted to take me but I said it was OK. I just let her bandage it up.”“Is your mum a nurse or something?”“Yeah, she looked after Grandpa when he was dying, but then when he did die, they all put on black clothes and put him in a box and drove off somewhere,” he said knowledgably.“Wow!” said Danny again. He was not sure what to make of this sudden serious conversation that he was having with his best friend.“You going after him again?” Danny nodded toward the river.“Nah! I’m just going to see if he’s there. I see him sometimes. He comes up real close and I can see his eyes and everything. He stares at me, he does; and he has his mouth open. I nearly caught him last week,” he boasted. He didn’t really. He just felt good about everything at the moment. His hand didn’t hurt; everyone that he met was sympathetic towards his heavily bandaged fist, and anyway, almost everybody in the village had said they nearly caught the elusive fish at one time or another. “Did you?” “Did you really nearly catch him?” Danny had a renewed respect for Jimmy. First he nearly caught ‘Old Rascal’, then he broke his arm and now he was going to face the monster again. “Yeah, but he got away,” Jimmy answered casually. Danny mounted his bike. “See ya,” he said, as he pedalled away. Jimmy watched him disappear over the crest of a hill before diving through the hole in the bushes and out the other side. He spent the whole afternoon simply sitting and thinking by the river. It was a week since Jimmy hit his hand with the hammer. The bandages had disappeared, there was no plaster cast to scribble on, the thumbnail had turned black and Old Rascal was still in the pool. Jimmy trundled his way home after his daily visit to the river, dejected at not having even had a glimpse of the fish. But he would be back, he told Pat, as the dog padded along beside him, sniffing every now and again at the taller grass that surrounded the bottom of the lampposts. He arrived home and wiped his muddy boots on the scraper at the back door. “Is that you, Jimmy?” his father called. Jimmy hadn’t heard his father working in the shed. He took off his boots and with them dangling by their laces at his side he trod on all the oddest shaped pieces of concrete that formed the crazy paving. “Hi, Dad,” he said dropping the boots at the shed door. “What you making?” “Oh just fixing up Pat’s kennel. Did you catch sight of Old Rascal?” “Nope,” Jimmy answered truthfully. He wouldn’t dare lie to his father…even about fishing. “Well, there’s always next week, Jimmy,” his father said. Jimmy leaned against the open shed door, one stockinged foot on top of the other. “Dad,” he said quietly. “Yeah?” His father answered without looking up from his project. “Can I have a real fishing rod?” There was silence. Jimmy thought his dad didn’t hear him and his face dropped. He’d plucked up the courage to ask for a real fishing rod and his father hadn’t heard him. How would he find the nerve to say it again? He bent and picked up his boots and forlornly made his way back to the house. He left the boots at the door and went into the kitchen where his mother was preparing their evening meal. He sat at the table with his chin in his hands, watching her. “Mum,” he said. “Yes dear?” “Is Dad going deaf?” he asked. “What on earth are you talking about, Jimmy…of course Daddy’s not going deaf. Why do you ask such silly questions?” Jimmy remained silent. If Dad isn’t going deaf he must have heard me. He doesn’t want me to have a real fishing rod, he thought. His mother caught him by the sleeve and eased him from his chair. “Go and wash your hands, there’s a good boy. Your dinner’s ready and Daddy will be in soon.” Jimmy finished his meal and went up to his bedroom. His mother finished washing up and answered the gentle tapping on the back door. Standing there was Danny, with his brand-new fishing rod slung across his shoulder.“Is Jimmy home?” he asked, squinting up at the tall lady before him. “Yes, he’s home, come in…but wipe your feet first, young man. I don’t want mud all over my floor, and leave that thing outside; I don’t want you knocking my crockery down from the shelf,” she said sternly, indicating the fishing rod. “Jimmy,” she called up the stairs, “there’s someone to see you.” Jimmy came down, his face still gloomy because his dad wouldn’t buy him a fishing rod. “What d’you want?” he sourly asked his friend. Danny always got what he wanted. “Don’t speak to your friend like that, Jimmy,” his mother rebuked, as she opened a new packet of cream-filled biscuits and tipped them into the barrel. The two sets of eyes of the small boys grew bigger. “Can we have one, Mum?” Jimmy pleaded.“Not now, you’ve just had your dinner,” his mother reminded him sternly. The two boys looked at each other, each knowing what the other was thinking. Why are parents so mean? They never, ever let you have anything, and you always have to do what they want. They slammed the door as they went outside. They really wanted a biscuit. “Mum didn’t have to let us see them if she wasn’t going to give us one,” Jimmy sulked. But Danny wasn’t interested in the biscuits now. He took his fishing rod that leaned against the wall. “You like my new rod?” he asked Jimmy, sticking out his chest. “S’all right,” Jimmy said sullenly and tried to look away. “Mum and Dad got it for my birthday,” Danny said. He wasn’t to be put off by Jimmy’s gloominess. “It’s not until next week, but I asked them if I could have it now,” he persisted. “I saw it in the shop window in the main street.” Jimmy had coveted it every time he saw it, but Danny could be mean sometimes, and he wanted the rod before Jimmy got his hands on it. “They gave it to me this morning.” Danny sensed that he wasn’t getting a reaction from his friend. But Jimmy couldn’t resist taking a peek at the gold, shiny new rod, with red thread round the ferrules. He kept his head down, and when Danny wasn’t looking he stole a quick glance around his shoulder. Her felt he wanted to throw up. Why can’t I have one like that? he thought. “You want to go try and catch Old Rascal now, Jimmy?” he asked eagerly, sidling up to his friend. “Nah. Don’t feel like it,” Jimmy replied gloomily.“Aw, come on…just for a little while. I want to try out my new rod.” “Don’t feel like fishing,” Jimmy insisted, grumpily. His friend didn’t want to go; he always wanted to go fishing. He never told anyone this before, but one day he and Jimmy played truant and spent a whole day by the river. The next day the teacher asked them if they had sick notes’. Jimmy said Pat chewed his up, and Danny said the wind blew his away when he took it from his pocket. “D’you want to go down by the river then,” Danny begged. “We don’t have to fish; we’ll just show Old Rascal the rod; let him see what we’re gonna catch him with,” he giggled. Finally, Jimmy couldn’t resist. The temptation was too great. He had to go to the river. “Only this once,” he said reluctantly. They trundled along in the warm summer evening, and where the grass had begun to spread across the edge of the road. Danny walked ahead with his fishing rod sticking high up on his shoulder for everyone to see, followed several paces back by Jimmy and his dog Pat. Danny waved as someone that they knew beeped their horn as they drove past. Jimmy crawled through the hedge and Danny carefully passed his rod through to him. Jimmy stood in awe. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He stood looking at the magnificent fishing rod that was now in his grasp. He ran his clenched fist along its length, feeling the knurl of the ferrules as they slipped through his fingers. He gripped the shaft of the handle, feeling its harsh, but spongy surface; then tookhold of the knob at the end. Jimmy squeezed his eyes tight and as he stood with this piece of wonderment in his possession. “I’ll take it,” Danny said almost jealously, as he crawled from the hole, dashing any thoughts Jimmy may have as to possessing this rod who the rod belonged. Jimmy opened his eyes. He begrudged having to return the rod to its rightful owner. He lowered it and reluctantly passed it to Danny and they continued on their way to the riverside. All the while Jimmy could think of nothing but the beautiful object that he fleetingly had in his grasp.The boys stood close to the river, near where the rushes grew. They leaned forward to get a better look into the water but saw no sign of Old Rascal. They lay on their stomachs, letting their fingers dabble in the pool, hoping that the fish would surface looking for food, but he still didn’t make an appearance. Danny’s rod lay idle beside them; it glistened in the afternoon sunlight and Jimmy took a long, furtive look at it once more. Then, before they realized it they heard it. Splash! Splash! “Did you hear that, Jimmy!” Danny said excitedly. The two boys sat bolt upright, shielding their eyes from the sun’s rays with their hands and peered into the murky water. “Yeah!” Jimmy exclaimed. He now suddenly forgot about Danny’s rod. “I see him,” he whispered hoarsely as the fish dived to the bottom, sending up a muddy cloud. “There he is…over there!” He pointed to the furthest end of the pool, where the concrete storm-water pipe from the road entered the river.“WOW! Look at him go! He’s a monster!” Jimmy was beside himself as he glimpsed the long, sleek, charcoal-grey body rise then dive once more into the eddy, where the river trickled into the pool. Jimmy jumped up and down with excitement. “He looked at me, Danny…he looked right at me…I could see right into his eyes…he had his mouth open…I could see his teeth!” Then as quickly as the excitement had begun, it came to an end. Old Rascal had had his fun. “I don’t want to catch him now,” declared Danny guiltily. “What, not even with your brand-new rod?” Jimmy couldn’t understand his friend’s reasoning. He had a new rod, he had seen Old Rascal up close; he almost touched him and now he doesn’t want to hold him. This was extraordinarily unbelievable. How could he not want to at least try to catch him? “Let’s go home now,” said Danny, crestfallen. “Yeah, I s’pose so, we might as well.” Jimmy thought his friend was a spoil-sport for not wanting to stay longer, as they made their way homeward. At dinner that evening Jimmy related to his parents what had happened earlier that day. His sister Jenny sat opposite him at the table looking bemused. “What do you want to catch a silly old fish for, anyway?” “You wouldn’t understand,” Jimmy retorted. Why don’t girls understand these things, he thought. All they think about is dressing up and wearing silly shoes that make them wobble when they walk. Jimmy couldn’t figure this out. “Don’t argue, children,” their mother said, removing the empty plates. Their father sat back in his chair, amused at the banter between his children. “How much was Danny’s fishing rod?” he asked Jimmy. “I don’t know, Dad, but it must have cost heaps. It’s shiny gold and red with silver things to slide the reel in.” Jimmy’s excitement rose again. Just talking about the fishing rod raised his expectation that perhaps Dad was going to buy him one. But his dad said no more on the subject.For the next few weeks life went on as normal for Jimmy Cork. He didn’t hurt himself, but he did continue his expeditions to the river, though he never saw Old Rascal again. Danny got his dad to put hooks on his bedroom wall so that he could hang his rod there and look at it every night before going to sleep. Jimmy still couldn’t understand why his friend wouldn’t go fishing. It was now the morning of Jimmy’s eighth birthday. His mum invited a few of the local kids over to his party after school, and of course Danny too was invited. She put up balloons and stretched streamers across the pergola that his dad finished only last week. His dad put his two sawhorses on the back lawn and laid some planks across them. He wanted to take the kitchen table out but his mum wouldn’t let him. “You’ll get grass stains and goodness knows what else from the dog all over the legs!” she reasoned. Jimmy thought that she was good at that…telling Dad what she thought was best. Dad always agreed with Mum, so they never argued. Not like the people three doors down the street; they were always fighting.Jimmy thought he should have the day off school. It was such an important day. He would be as old as Danny when he got his first fishing rod, he thought, wishing his parents were rich. His mum insisted that he would have to go to school. “You will have plenty of time for your party when you come home; and you never know, you might get cards from your school friends.” “Yeah,” Danny said, “and I might even get presents.” “Well there you are then,” said his mother, strapping his school bag onto his shoulders. “Off you go now,” she said, straightening his cap. Jimmy took the yellow and black school bus to the next village where he attended the old red-brick school. The same school that his dad went to when he was Jimmy’s age. “Mind you, they’ve made a lot of changes since I was a boy,” said his dad. Jimmy came out of school. He didn’t get any presents, which he thought was a bit of a disappointment, but the class made him a big birthday card that everybody wrote their names on; except for Rita Barnard. She was from the rich part of the village as well as Danny. She didn’t like Jimmy because he rode a girl’s bike when he went fishing. He didn’t tell anyone that it used to be his mum’s bike. It didn’t have any mudguards, but the brakes were all right, and that was good enough for Jimmy. His teacher said he could leave early as it was his birthday, but that wasn’t much use to Jimmy; he still had to wait for the bus home. Some of the kids started to sing, “Happy birthday,” but then they forgot the words so they stopped. Instead, they started to throw little balls of paper moistened with spit at him. Others began fighting and the driver stopped the bus and threatened them that they would all walk home if they didn’t behave. The bus stopped at Jimmy’s drop-off point and the doors opened with a hiss as Jimmy and several other kids huddled together in their eagerness to get home. Danny said he’d ride his bike over later. He walked the few hundred yards to his home and dropped his school bag on the kitchen floor. His mum wasn’t there and his sister Jenny wouldn’t get home for another half an hour. “Do I have to be at Jimmy’s party?” Jenny had begged. “I have to play netball this evening.” “Yes, dear,” her mother had insisted. “Of course you have to be there, if only for a little while.” Jimmy went upstairs to the toilet then washed his hands. He stared at his reflection in the mirror above the vanity. He couldn’t see that he was any older, although he felt much more grown up. “I’m going to ask Mum if I can stay up a half an hour longer from now on,” he whispered to himself. He came downstairs. There was still no sign of anyone. “I’ll bet they’ve forgotten it’s my birthday,” he muttered under his breath. “No; no one forgets about kids’ birthdays.” He recalled that his dad had forgotten his mum’s birthday once and she gave him a real telling off. He took us out for KFC and hamburgers. It cost him half a week’s wages. “Nah…they wouldn’t forget,” he said. Dad wouldn’t spend that much on him, Jimmy decided.Suddenly, he heard music coming from outside. He stared out through the kitchen window, but all he could see were the balloons and streamers bobbing about in the breeze. He decided to investigate and cautiously opened the back door. The music continued but no one in sight. He walked slowly to the shed. Then, abruptly, he stopped. What if it’s robbers? He dreaded to think of the consequences. He picked up the mattock that leaned beside the shed door, knowing not what he would use it for. Jimmy slowly pulled back the shed door, and there, standing in the middle of a spotlessly clean and tidy floor of his dad’s shed, was his dad and mum and Jenny. “Happy birthday, Jimmy,” they all sang, their voices loud above the music coming from the radio.Then he spotted it! On Dad’s bench, lying there on his dad’s bench was a magnificent, gleaming, sparkling fishing rod. Jimmy’s jaw dropped. He froze. “A…a…a fishing rod,” he stammered. Then a horrible thought entered his mind and tears began to well up in his eyes. “Danny left his fishing rod,” he said dismally. Jimmy’s dad turned and picked up the rod. “No, son, this isn’t Danny’s; it’s for you, Jimmy. This is your birthday present from Mum and me. Now you can really go after Old Rascal!”Tears began to roll down Jimmy’s cheeks. He stood and sobbed. His dad and mum bent and caught up their son in their arms. “Can I hold it now?” Jimmy begged.“Of course you can,” his mum said, “but first you must wait until Jenny gives you her present, dear.” Jimmy didn’t want to have to wait one more minute…Jenny’s present or not. He wanted to get his hands on his very first fishing rod; a rod that was as good as Danny’s, but wait he had to. Jenny came forward with tears in her eyes. She handed Jimmy a gift. It was a small parcel wrapped in shiny paper with motor-bikes and cars and fish all over it. Jimmy ripped off the paper and couldn’t believe his eyes. It was the best fishing reel that he had ever seen. Again Jimmy began to sob. Jenny ruffled his hair. “Happy fishing, Jimmy,” she said, giving him squeeze. Jimmy couldn’t wait for the party to be over and done with. All he wanted was stand and look at the best birthday present anyone ever had. Danny stood beside his friend and the two boys compared notes. Jimmy thought his rod was a bit longer than Danny’s, but Danny thought his reel was the best. On the first Saturday after Jimmy’s birthday he and Danny headed for the river. The two boys held their heads high as they walked along with their rods bouncing on their shoulders “I didn’t want to go fishing with my new rod, because you didn’t have one,” Danny said quietly. The whole village knew of Jimmy’s new fishing rod and everyone agreed to stay away from the river that day. The boys set down their cans of worms and spread out a groundsheet. Jimmy’s mum made sandwiches and packed soft drinks. This was going to be a day that they would remember for the rest of their lives. They baited their hooks and cast out under the overhanging branches and into the pool. They waited and waited, watching for the slightest movement from Old Rascal. Nothing happened. Then, suddenly he was there. They saw the long, sleek grey-black body of their quarry just below the surface. Jimmy and Danny were beside themselves in their excitement. They stood in wonderment as the huge fish glided through the water. It was almost as if it was taunting them, turning first one way and then another; from one side of the pool to the other; in and out of the rushes. Then, just as suddenly it dived and was gone.“WOW!” The boys said in unison. They jiggled their rods and reeled the lines in slowly, hoping to attract the attention of the fish, but it refused to be tempted. “He’s gone away,” Danny said forlornly.“Yeah, we’re not gonna catch him,” Jimmy responded, winding in his reel. Then, in a flash, the tip of his rod was bending deep over the water. Then, it stopped and sprung up again, and then there was nothing. Jimmy and Danny looked at each other. Was this as close as they would come to catching Old Rascal? Their question was answered when the rod dipped again. This time it went almost into the river. Jimmy snatched at it, jerking upwards. He’d got him. He’d caught Old Rascal. This was incredible. He couldn’t believe that he’d caught the biggest fish anyone had ever caught. He slowly reeled in the fish, making sure to keep his line taut, as his dad had shown him many times. Old Rascal had stopped its struggle now, as Jimmy continued to bring it to the river bank. Jimmy’s cheeks were flushed, and he puffed with the effort. This was what he understood fishing was all about. The whole village would be proud of him. But, just as all the grand thoughts rushed through Jimmy’s mind, Old Rascal gave one last leap, then landed with a loud ‘SLAP’ as he fell back into the water. Then he was gone.“He got away,” Jimmy cried, hardly able to contain himself. “He got away.” Danny put down his rod and watched in awe as his young friend struggled with the fish. He put his arm around Jimmy’s shoulders. “But you caught him, Jimmy,” he said reassuringly. “”You caught him.”“No one will believe me,” Jimmy sobbed. “I saw you catch him.” Danny said, as they made their way home. “I’m your friend, and that’s all that matters.” Several days went by when one day Jimmy and his mum and dad and his sister Jenny were sitting at the dinner table. Jimmy’s dad took from his pocket a yellow packet and handed it to Jimmy.Jimmy opened it slowly, not sure what to expect. He pulled from it a photograph. “Wow! You took my picture when I caught Old Rascal,” he exploded, unbelieving. “How did you do that, Dad?” “Well, Jimmy, you didn’t know that Mum and I hid from you and Danny when you tried out your new fishing rod. We got it all on film.” “Wow,” Jimmy whispered. “Now everyone will believe me,” he said proudly, holding back his tears. |
| Harry E Wheeler Posts: 171 Joined: 3rd Feb 2008 Location: Australia | Posted at 11:30 on 10th July 2008 To return to why we are all here, and for those interested in 16th. Century history, I wrote this poem in memory of Mary, Queen of Scots, who was beheaded in 1587, and who left a son, James, who would become the first king of a united Kingdom. Harry
Long was the night Long was the night 'ere the axe-man's blade Would fall upon the neck of Scotland's maid The raven of death she once espied As her ship anchored at Leith on a morning tide Now ominously perched beyond the pane Bringing a message of death, once again Her memories of France's gaiety and laughter Would end in loneliness and disaster No more to rule as Scotland's queen The fairest princess that any had seen Now alabaster skin parched as sand And aching bones, alone, unable to stand Her gentle hands once pure and fair Besieged with pain, yet clasped in prayer Her anguished soul sought eternal peace And physical anguish to finally cease "My Father, why have you forsaken me?" Words of Christ on the cross were the plea She whispered to the walls of her cell Yet no more would she suffer a living hell At the close of that mournful night The queen beheld a brilliant light God came to her as she sat and penned Letters to those who were faithful until her end "Hate not your enemies," the words were spoken "The bond of love cannot be broken". The Queen then completed her task Yet there was one more thing she would ask Before she was to bid "Adieu" - "Forgive them father, for they know not what they do". |
| Ruth Gregory Posts: 8072 Joined: 25th Jul 2007 Location: USA | Posted at 17:22 on 10th July 2008 Hi Harry: Hope you're feelin good today. These last two are great, especially the poem. Thanks. You must go to the Happy Clerihew Day thread that Sue H. started and put in a couple of clerihews for us. |
| Harry E Wheeler Posts: 171 Joined: 3rd Feb 2008 Location: Australia | Posted at 18:30 on 10th July 2008 Thank you for your concern, Ruth. I have a few unsettled days, mostly due to the fact that My Specialist and my GP were unable to pin point my precise illness. They now, following a number of tests, have concluded that I have a rare form of CLL...as my doctor said, "You do not do things by half, Harry!" I feel a little more settled mentally now, particularly since I have been told I (and Mary) can safely travel. I will begin a course of tablets on our return to Oz. They act as a mild form of Chemo: & will make me sick; and if I had hair to lose it would begin to fall out I am not familiar with Happy Clerihew Day, Ruth, but I shall Google it and take your advise. Back to bed now, at 3am. Regards, Harry |
| Harry E Wheeler Posts: 171 Joined: 3rd Feb 2008 Location: Australia | Posted at 18:38 on 10th July 2008 The Answer to a Lover’s Tiff What light doth fiercely sparkle in thine eyes? |
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