The Lamplighter


I was very late submitting my attempt last week and Friday Fictioneers wait for no woman, or man!

My grandmother told me many tales;  some she made up, some she promised were true. In any event she should have written them down. She told me about the lamplighter and that my great grandfather liked to drink …

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields lights the path to Friday Fictioneers and we all follow as best we can. Thanks to her for the photo this week.

lamps

Genre: Memoir/Fiction

Word Count: 100

The Lamplighter

Granny told us many stories of the lamplighter. He lit the gas lamps in her town so folks could see their way home, or in her father’s case, to the alehouse.  One night her father didn’t stagger home. They found him next morning face down in the stream, his jug still clutched in his hand.

Many supportive neighbours and a few of his drinking friends attended his funeral. My great grandmother baked all night, then lit the parlour lamps and held a wake, relaxing in her new found freedom, released from toil and childbearing.

She never mentioned his name again.

For we are very lucky, with a lamp before the door,
And Leerie stops to light it as he lights so many more;
And oh! before you hurry by with ladder and with light;
O Leerie, see a little child and nod to him to-night!    

  (from The Lamplighter – Robert Louis Stevenson)

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The Dancing Horse


Friday Fictioneers are riding high! Lots of writers from all over the world race to join our group each week. Marshalled by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, we trot, canter and gallop along to the finish line with our interpretation of the prompt for each week.
The photo this week is courtesy of Doug McIlroy, a great fictioneer.

thirsty -DM McIlroy

 Genre: fiction

Word Count: 100

The Dancing Horse

In the high pasture hidden away, the old grey horse raises his head. Ears pricked, he hears the music drifting up from the valley below. Memories stir, the crowds and applause come back to him.

He sways in time with the music, then very slowly lifts his front legs off the ground, the muscles in his hind quarters rippling and straining with the effort to keep them in the air. He attempts a Levade, learned in a different life, long ago.

In the stables in Vienna, the name Maestoso Portia shines bright above his stall and fresh straw is waiting.

—-00—-

I saw the famous Lipizzaner horses at the Spanish Riding School in Vienna performing their Airs Above the Ground  a few years ago, it was a magical experience. Then later, I heard stories about how some of these magnificent horses had been stolen and just disappeared,  I wondered what happened to them. For more information on Lipizzaner Horses visit http://www.lipizzaner.com/

Riding on the curb.

Riding on the curb. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Green – Travel Theme


I love following Ailsa’s travels and viewing her wonderful photographs and this week her theme is “Green”.  (Read more here )

My selection is from close to home – my garden. It will never feature in Home and Garden;  it is a tennis court, soccer pitch, fairyland, petanque pitch, campsite and, if I get the chance, a relaxing spot to unwind with a glass of wine or a cup of coffee and a favourite book!

I just love the different shades of green that you can see, depending on the weather and time of day. These were mostly taken in late autumn last year, but the little snowdrops braved the frost and snow of a couple of weeks ago. Hope you like them 🙂

Waiting


As a little white rabbit said “I’m late, I’m late…”

But I managed to pull something together eventually.  The thing about Friday Fictioneers is the big hook, once you’re on you just don’t want to wriggle off!  The photo this week is courtesy of Lora Mitchell and the Friday Fictioneers are lovingly corralled each week by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

lilies-lora-mitchell

Genre: Fiction

Word Count:  100

Waiting

Martha stares out at the city one last time.

Seems she is always waiting.

She had waited for a husband to love.

She had waited a while for their first child.

She had waited in vain for their second.

She had waited for her husband to love her as she loved him.

 

She waits for the bus, holding one bag and one silent child, ‘can’t have any more that don’t speak’

She waits at her mother’s door for the comforting arms that will hold them both; for the heart that is bigger than the ocean, to envelop them in love.

My Gift


It’s time for Friday Fictioneers again. Time to join the great group of writers who plot,edit, rewrite, tear out their hair, swear, lose sleep and patience all in an effort to get out 100 words for the challenge each week. Join us, we don’t bite – well, not all of us!

The photo prompt this week comes courtesy of Jennifer Pendegast.

Winding stairs

Genre: Literary Fiction

Word Count: 100

My Gift

I am still here, you did not destroy me.

 I fought my way out from beneath the horror of your overpowering ‘love’ into the light of normality and reason. I am not ashamed. I feel clean.

Not my fault, not my fault, not my fault, no shame.

I’m waiting for you. Waiting here at the top of the stairs; when I remove the bulb, you won’t see the wire you like so much,  tightly stretched across the top step.

Your fall to oblivion will be my gift to you.

And the gift of others, who never broke free of you.

A Fresh Start


Friday 1st March, St David’s Day and time for more Friday Fictioneers. Thanks for the photo prompt this week go to Beth Carter, and thanks for continuing to inspire the Friday Fictioneers go to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Genre: Literary Fiction

Word Count: 100 words

The Fresh Start

Photo - Beth Carter

Photo – Beth Carter

He looked out at the yard.

Not much stuff left now. Some cookery books, the unused  ‘zigzag action’ sewing machine, a red boudoir chair, some photo albums, a few shoes. All her castoffs.

He saw the red-haired woman again. She had walked passed a couple of times. Now she crossed the street and stood looking at the car. He had hated women, one woman, for too long.

He came outside, she smiled.

“Seems I’ve moved to an interesting neighbourhood, is the car in the sale too?”

He grinned, it wasn’t a sale, just a clear out.

He got the keys.

See other stories here

(Late entry this week. I tried to post last night, but for some reason I couldn’t load the photo and there’s never an intergeek around when you need one! So this is my Saturday Submission)

Happy St David’s Day!


Welsh Flag(Getty Images)

Welsh Flag
(Getty Images)

1st March is St David’s Day here in Wales. It’s the day when children are allowed to leave school uniform at home and dress in something resembling National Dress. Tradition has it that the ladies wear a daffodil in their lapel and the men wear a leek – not the real thing, just a lapel pin. The daffodil and the leek are National Emblems of Wales, along with the more widely know heraldic symbol of the Red Dragon.

We also tend to eat Welsh Cakes – haven’t a clue why, but they just taste good.

IMG_0019

Cardiff also had Royal visitors today, in honour of St David’s Day

TRH Prince of Wales 7 Duchess of Cornwall

TRH Prince of Wales & The Duchess of Cornwall