Bedtime stories You say you have heard bad things about our troubled earth and it's keeping you awake. What can I do to allay your fears? I could tell you another story, perhaps remind you, now Spring is here, of that secret kindling of ants and beetles in the further reaches of the garden, and all the liveliness and merriment we found around the lilacs and the birches. Or tell you about that time when a sparrow hawk thumped down among the hellebores, ripping through a collared dove, his fearsome eyes, starlike, flaming gold, fixing me, boasting his entitlement, as he spread a cloak around his feast. I could have offered you a sugar-coated version, but perhaps I should trust that, in time, you will come to know how nature really works. Through the window, I can see the rain beating against the pane. You ask if we are in for another flood. You want to know more: ask why the sky is so often angry, why, across the world, they say the trees are rasping for want of rain. But there are some things I cannot tell you. Questions about how humanity has abused the earth: this shameful legacy we have fashioned, that now seeks payment. And, in me, the feelings of guilt: knowing that I remain a co-conspirator, conniving in this firestorm of complacency and denial, looking on, even as the Gods of fire and water are thrown out of kilter. All these things you will come to know when the time is right. But it is late, and I must leave you to rest. So let us finish with a prayer and remember that in the end, it is only love that can heal the earth. Then I must say goodnight, holding a picture image of you slipping into sleep.
Category Archives: Children’s Literature
The Fly by Joan Saxby
Joan's first entry for our new term THE FLY The winter months have all gone by And summer lifts your mood Until that nasty, dirty fly Lands on your longed-for food. You waft it off your dinner plate And hope it goes away But as you know it is our fate To be a target all the day. It lands upon your bread and jam Your tea-time’s ruined too It won’t land on my Sunday lamb I vow, sat on the loo. But sure enough, when from the oven The lovely roast emerged It and its friends, about a dozen Towards my dinner surged. I chased them round the table With the daily in my hand I showed them I was able To make a Custer stand. And one by one I slew them Those beasties, by my wrath But resting in my armchair then I was pestered by a moth. I retired to bed for my repose And fell asleep to find A beastie landing on my nose An insect of another kind. What can I do to stop these pests? I’m sick of chasing flies I want to go without my vests And sit eating buns and pies. I’d like to have a week in Spain To cast off all my woes But fear it would be all in vain Because of those mosquitoes. Joan Saxby.
The Orangutan by Joan Saxby
One for the children
THE ORANGUTAN
I know an orangutan
Who has arms longer than any man
He swings from trees with great agility
But can't read a book 'cos he's got no ability.
He swings from branch to branch with great ease
As he leaps to and fro between trees
He'll chatter to me as fast as he can
But of course I can't speak orangutan!
Joan Saxby
Jenna and the Challenge by Michael Healy
A third installment of Michael’s story for all grandchildren everywhere
Jenna and the Challenge
Jenna the elephant was off to town to take the Royal Family
His howdah was fitted with a cover to stop the rain
And the young family members climbed up and sat down.
Clearly the rain was a nuisance to all.
Jenna was unhappy as his normal carer, Majub, was not here
Instead he had sent his son Tariq to take care.
The Head of the Royals was not coming
So they set off down the road to town.
They had not gone far when this big American car forced its way past Jenna
Jenna saw the passenger was the Head of the Royals, but worse:
The driver was Majub!
How could he let Jenna down so.
Off shot the car, spraying Jenna and all on board with mud
Grrrrr, thought Jenna. What did the future hold for him now?
A nice dry and warm car stood there just waiting to go.
No draughty saddle to mount in sun or snow.
Eventually they reached town and Jenna saw the car
Parked just where he would stand to wait the return of his passengers.
Tariq led him in front of the car to wait the return and gave him a bucket of water.
Jenna could not help but look at this fancy car, with all its shiny chrome.
He felt quite tired, with the heavy saddle and the walk he had just done.
He decided he needed to sit down, so he sat down – right on top of this new cars bonnet.
Crunch, crash, smash! Oh dear, what a mess he had made of the shiny new car.
He got up and shuffled forward to look all innocent. But Majub was there.
‘Jenna, what have you done’, said Majub. ‘This will take weeks to repair’
‘Oh good’, thought Jenna. ‘ That will teach them not to use a car’.
JENNA THE ELEPHANT part 2 – AND LIONS by Michael Healy
Michael’s Grandchildren wanted to know what next happened to Jenna
JENNA THE ELEPHANT, AND LIONS.
Jenna the elephant had by now, learned to carry the family royal,
He had learned to cope with the weight of a full Howdah,
As well as used to waiting, while his passengers did their business.
Majub was his master, and they had become friends.
Though Jenna knew Majub was boss.
Jenna’s father, Arjuna, was a massive elephant, but now retired.
He spent his days relaxing, wandering around and helping as required.
His lifetime had been spent mainly as transport for the royal family.
He had had a good life, and his son, Jenna, had now taken on his routines,
And he was pleased at the success his son was making of his duties.
As the day started, he saw Jenna being prepared for a trip with the family Royal
Arjuna agreed that he looked very smart, with coloured fabrics in a coil
He watched as they all climbed aboard and sat in their places,
Jenna moved off very slowly and stately, he was not at the races.
He set off down the track to town, but suddenly he stopped.
In front, lying on the track in the sun, was a pride of lions,
Although pretending to be asleep, they were not.
Jenna mustered all the courage he had got,
He had to move them to get by
Looking at his handler, Majub, he could almost cry.
He let lose the best trumpet bellow he could do
Not that it moved the lions. Even Majub was stuck to.
Suddenly, from behind, came an ear-splitting, extended, bellow.
The Lions fell over each other as they dashed for the bush.
Jenna recognised that bellow and was so pleased.
Arjuna was just behind. He looked at Jenna and teased.
‘We elephants stick together, you know.
If you need me just send a trunk call.’
Majub smiled ‘Old jokes still the best’ he muttered.
Jenna the elephant was so proud by Michael Healy
Jenna the elephant was so proud.
Jenna was an elephant, who came with Royal blood.
His father was so stately, the massive Arjuna was so good.
Jenna was quite shy but knew he had his duties.
Arjuna for many years had been the Royal transport,
Now the time had come for Jenna to take over.
Arjuna’s saddle was huge, decorated with jewels and gold.
Jenna had been fitted for his. It was now built, but nothing like as bold
He had yet to earn his status, by carrying the Family Royal.
His rider was Majub, a wiry little chap. He would show him how to toil.
The day came, at least for a practice. He was to take the Royal boys to town.
Soon he was dressed in all his finery with his saddle fitted along.
He was feeling quite wobbly as the boys climbed on.
His tummy was rumbling and there was little he could do
Suddenly from the back came a tremendous rumble and ‘phew!!’.
Fortunately the boys thought it funny and held their noses tight.
Majub was not at all pleased and said, ‘good job not their father, right’
They set off for town walking slowly down the track
He must note the way so he could lead them back
The further he went the better he felt. He held his head high with pride.
Majub also looked very smart, indeed he now felt proud
But seeing Jenna act the same, he said we should not yet be proud.
‘There is still much for you to learn’, he said out very loud.
Jenna realised Majub was right and they must be a team.
As they passed along this road with trees on either side
Something stirred within the bushes and Jenna watched his ride
Alarmingly, there was a family of lions that frolicked back and forth.
Majub turned to Jenna and held his rein most tight.
‘Just keep walking on’, he said. ‘That really is a pride!!’
‘Yes, a pride of lions’, thought Jenna.
He was proud of his bravery.
Dr Michael Healy
Bucket list by Kevin Murphy
Kevin’s response to the ‘Bucket List’ trigger:
Bucket List:
‘I am just a poor boy though my story’s seldom told’… is one of my mantras. My mother was incredibly practical, perhaps out of necessity as my father was not; perhaps from the make do and mend attitude of the war; perhaps because her father was a shoe mender – the inter war years being a busy time, but also one where customers did not return to collect the shoes he had repaired because they could not pay.
My mother got permission to start work not at the statutory accepted end of her 14th school year, but the Monday after her October birthday, just two weeks after war was declared in 1939. For decades after her father died in 1956 (from his Great War wounds – gassing) we had one of his lasts in our cellar.
This had use right into the eighties – a trade secret to stop heels rubbing – gently hammer out the leather to stretch it.
One of our most famous family stories is about the time my Father got my sister and me to surprise Mother, who would normally wallpaper all by herself, by papering the hall ceiling for her while she was out at mass. All of us on ladders, he at one end, passed to Ces in the middle who passed it to me at the other end. We had difficulty making it stick in the stretches between us. It slowly drooped at one or two points and gradually, oh so gradually, gathered pace until it effectively dressed Ces atop her ladder. She was intrepid though. She did not let go her hand. She did let go of something else. At first the giggle … led to tears of laughter … before she eventually wet herself.
When Ma returned there was a six inch patch of paper in the middle of the hall ceiling, a twelve inch puddle on the hall carpet, and a wasted roll of the wallpaper we could little afford in a corner.
I do try to do all the jobs. Laying a hedge I swung the billhook back and caught the back of my head. Only the dufflecoat hood saved serious injury. I’ve electrocuted myself fixing the washer, and broken a finger dropping a car axle onto it. Though the list of fixables did reduce over the years, I persevere, I am intrepid. I’ve fixed the flat screen TV in the last year … but now I am a bit of a ‘Gunner’ and the list of things I’m gunner fix is getting longer again.
There is no need to fix. I am no longer a poor boy. Money in the bank making negative interest. My kids deny it when I sing ‘I am just a poor boy, though my story’s seldom told. ‘
There’s a hole in my bucket dear Kevin,
I’ll fix it dear Diane…
DON’T FIX THE FLIPPIN’ THING, JUST BUY ME A NEW ONE!
‘Dirty deeds done good’, by Kevin Murphy
What happened next to Little Jack Horner?
Jack choked on his mead as he heard a commotion in the outer office. He swept the nucklebones off the table and indicated the mead flagon to Harold, and the goblets to Ned. They slipped their playthings out of view as Jack sat back into his ample leather chair. There was a scream from outside. The door banged open and three Roundheads rattled in. The captain stood up to the desk. The guardsmen blocked a swift exit with stamped feet and crossed lances. Not that anyone had legs to run with. Jack's nonchalant grin greeted the glare. He sucked his teeth. 'Smells like a whorehouse in here,' snapped the captain. Jack sniffed. 'I wouldn't know.' 'Sir!' Jack looked around. The captain slapped a handbill on the table. 'Is this your handiwork?' he said. Jack struggled up from his slouch and squinted at the object which appeared to be causing some offence. 'No sir.' 'No sir! No sir?' 'Prin'ers ’andiwork, sir. Nice ain't it?' The captain narrowed his eyes and took a noisy breath through flared nostrils. 'Ow, I gets ye, sir,' said Jack, 'ye sort a means is the rats my ’andiwork,. But, er...you gid me that job ... so ye kinda threw me at first.' 'Stand up when I speak to you!' Jack wriggled in his boots. His voice changed. 'I am sir.' The Captain looked back at his smirking men. He stroked his chin and said, ‘of course, just the man for the job. Ferreting the vermin out.' He turned and jutted his chin into Jack's face. 'But you haven't, have you?' 'Well your boys pretty well cleaned up round ’ere. Not left me a lot to go at.' 'When did you last see your Master?' 'Now, that's another question I knows you knows the answer to, sir,' said Jack drawing his left cheek off his teeth. 'It were you dragged him and the Missis out, what, free month ago?' The Captain's eyes were now barely a slit. Through gritted teeth he hissed. He looked to his gloved fists as he clenched them and banged them down on the desk. 'He was sprung, you insolent slob. You know he was sprung!' Jack stood back a little, almost falling into the chair, then up onto his tiptoes. His face blanched. He cleared his throat. 'Do I?' 'Do I? Do I?' Jack wasn't trying to be facetious. Try offended, Jack. 'Well I don't know sir. Who...?' The captain looked at Jack's two henchmen one at each side of the 'desk' ... table. They didn't look like they could hench much. 'Stand up!' he bawled, 'both of you. Get over there with your master.' He stood back between his two men and three faced three. The Captain drew his gauntlet across his mouth looking steadily into each man's eyes in turn, before addressing the sentries. 'Like looking into the eyes of fish in a barrel - long dead. Smell like them too, I'll be bound.' Nobody laughed. 'Are you trying to tell me that we let you keep your room in the manor house, and the Squire has not been back to...?' 'Very kind of you, it were. Nice it is too ... having it to ourselves...' 'Our selves? Our?' Jack shuddered. 'Well yeah. Not these two, like. Missis an' me sir. Me and Missis. Dint expect me to live there and her back in the cottage did yer?' 'But I did expect you to do something for the privilege, Horner! This is a damned Royalist hotspot. Veritable nest of Papist vipers.' He stabbed the handbill. 'What's that say?' he said pointing to 'RATS, LICE, VERMIN'. Jack looked at the captain. 'Dirty deeds done good, sir.' The Captain double checked and glanced at a sentry, who smirked out of the window. 'It - says - rats, lice and vermin...' 'That too sir, yeah.' 'Dirty deeds, not done...!' he growled. 'Not done, are they? 'Run off our feet ain't we boys?' He elbowed Harold to stop scratching his arse. 'Printer done a great job, and everyone callin' on us to ... look at that,' he said shoving his rat-bitten hand under the Captain's nose. The officer slapped it away. 'For us who are paying handsomely.' 'We got some good leads, for you, ain't we boys?' They were all nodding like donkeys. 'Just need to get a ... well don't want to send you in after any wild gooses. That's our job. But, we will get you some sitting ducks...' He looked to his men '...this time next week. How's that?' The Captain took off his gauntlets. Jack wondered if that meant either business: him in the rat trap, or the soldiers were going to get comfy. He glanced hopefully at a full flagon on the shelf behind the door. 'That Manor house you are living in: you do know it could be yours?' Jack thought it already was. That was the deal. He had given them seven houses - well the deeds he had found in the pie - and Lord Frederick had agreed terms. Keeping one was only fair. Did the Captain know? Did he care? He wheedled, 'His Lordship ... enjoyed the pie I took him?' He waggled his head. 'Not got indigestion, now I hope - Lord Frederick, I mean.' That seemed to hit the spot. The Captain stood back, looked at his gloves and put one back on. He raised an ungloved finger very close to Jack's nose. Jack looked disdainfully at it, as it slowly retreated. 'A week, Horner! Seven days. Same day next week - that's Thursday ... but morning, not late afternoon. You had the wits to look into that pie, and to bring it to his Lordship. You might not be able to read the word 'deeds', but you know what a Deed is.' He stopped to ensure a reasonable tone, before continuing. He tapped the lose gauntlet on the table. 'His Lordship appreciated you bringing him those other six...' he looked all round and coughed '... but if it had been me, I would have you for spoiling the pie in the first place...' 'What and take the pie where it was sent, eh? To one his nibs Royalist cronies, Eh? Eh? I ask you? That what Lord Fred...' 'Calm down man. Of course not. Let's be reasonable.' He coughed. 'Lord Frederick, is a fair a reasonable man and well ... we don't want that good nature being taken advantage of now, do we?' Jack was beginning to relax. 'You and me, Jack?' He let the stress sink in. 'That Manor is yours. Yes. The deeds from the ... pie ... are for keeps. His Lordship did indeed ... if you'll excuse my witticism ... enjoy the pie.' He drew himself up to his full height and raised his voice, just a little, 'but he is busy about the Parliament's business, and you must be also.' 'I realise what you are saying Captain, I need to deliver some of my Master's friends, if I am to ... enjoy my slice of the pie ... and live in peace. Yessir.' The Captain leaned in. 'You pulled out a real plum, there Jack, and don't we know it? But there is a reason why his Lordship let you keep it. Have some nice juice for me next Thursday, else I'll leave with you just the stone. He indicated the door to the sentries and they turned out. Jack's mouth hung open. The captain's Roundhead helmet flashed sunlight from the street as he turned in the doorway and shouted 'That's a good boy.' Jack clapped his hands, 'Gives me the pip, that bastard', but he cackled and pointed to the new flagon. 'Yes indeed lads, what a good boy am I.' Like many nursery rhymes, Little Jack Horner has almost certainly some basis in truth - mostly making fun of a prominent character. It is this history, which I heard in the 1960s which forms the basis of my story. I was educated by several Christian religious brothers and priests, to whom the basis had distinct veracity, whether or not the deeds were of Mells, there were thousands of others which it could be true of.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Little_Jack_Horner In the 19th century a story began to gain currency that the rhyme is actually about Thomas Horner, who was steward to Richard Whiting, the last abbot of Glastonbury before the dissolution of the monasteries under Henry VIII of England.[31] It is asserted that, prior to the abbey's destruction, the abbot sent Horner to London with a huge Christmas pie which had the deeds to a dozen manors hidden within it as a gift to try to convince the King not to nationalise Church lands. During the journey Horner opened the pie and extracted the deeds of the manor of Mells in Somerset, which he kept for himself.[32] It is further suggested that, since the manor properties included lead mines in the Mendip Hills, the plum is a pun on the Latin plumbum, for lead. While records do indicate that Thomas Horner became the owner of the manor, subsequent owners of Mells Manor have asserted that the legend is untrue and that Wells purchased the deed from the abbey.
Sad Extinction of the Trees by Michael Healy
Sad Extinction of the Trees
Ouch! said the tree, I felt that, it hurt.
Yes its that guy down there,
making all that noise and dirt
Haven’t you seen what happened to the Poplar next door to me?
What? Fallen! cut down flat.
Thirty years growing and that is that.
Through gales, snow and floods we have all stood proud.
New owner comes in and starts to treat us like a crowd.
First one, then two, then ten and twenty; we all crash
Turns us into trash!
All in his first 30 days
Now the rain will run right down the land,
the wind will blow a gale
And as for our neighbours next door;
Now they can see from their abode,
right up to Tuxford Gaol.
Dr Michael Healy, Egmanton
The Story of the models by Thomas Healy aged 10
[Michael Healy has introduced a whole school to our website. His Grandson is following in certain footsteps. It is Retford Writers’ website and no age has been specified. I hope you find this encouraging. Ed.]
My Grandson (who has just turned 10) is very keen on writing, I hope, with some encouragement from me. He recently presented the story below to me and ask if it could go on Retwords. I said that was not my decision and Retwords was really for grown ups. I agreed I would send It to you to see what you think. His School have also entered him for the BBC’s 500 word competition. Perhaps we could have a young Writers section?
Michael
The Story of the models by Thomas Healy
It was the night before my birthday and I just couldn’t wait until tomorrow, I will be ten years old. My bedtime was close by and I couldn’t stop thinking about my model car that I had bought today as well as what I might get tomorrow for my birthday. Steadily I fell into a drowsy sleep. I started to dream and in that dream I was staring at my model of my Dads 1987 2.2 litre 5 cylinder turbo engine Audi Quattro. Suddenly the engine turned on, I shouted “Dad, Dad is that you” because I did not see my dad. It started to rev its engine, I did not know what it was going to do next. Quickly it sped out of the box and started rallying around dad’s lounge and my General-lee Dodge Charger jumped to the three seater sofa honking its Dixie horn as it did so. I had an Avro Lancaster model that was bombing the coffee table thinking it was the Eider Dam out of the dambusters. All my classic and modern red Ferraris were lining up for a dangerous obstacle race.
Someone shouted ready steady go! And when that Spitfire flew over, the race had started around the coffee table in my dad’s lounge. The Ferraris were first off the line with the Quattro not far behind, and the General-Lee catching up on them. Clockwise they were going round the table. On the second corner a Ferrari crashed, the Spitfire landed to see if it was ok. On the corner there was a fallen tree, everyone couldn’t get past it apart from the General-Lee. Suddenly the Shelby GT500 came in with all its might and it pulled the tree out of the way and every one caught up with the General-Lee. No one realised that the truck was there and the trucks drove in the middle of the track on purpose and the spitfire came out of no where and picked the truck up and put it down on the coffee table so he could not get off. Suddenly the Dodge Charger clipped the coffee table, spun out and caught fire, everyone stopped.
Steadily, I gradually woke up. It was my birthday, I ran down the stairs. I looked at my models in the lounge and they were all in outstanding condition and everything was all ok. I realised it had all been an exciting dream. My dad came in to the lounge as I had woken him coming down the stairs to check to see if I was ok. In his hand he had a present for me in the shape of a box . The box was the size of one for a model car. I was really exited now. I wondered what could it be. It would be amazing if it was a Jaguar E-type . I wonder if it could have joined in the race in my dream. I wonder what dream I may have tonight.
By Thomas Healy (Age 10)
Retwords 