A Bridge Trip


Thanks as always to Rochelle for her sterling work and thanks to The Reclining Gentleman for the photo this week.

Copyright The Reclining Gentlemen

                                             Copyright The Reclining Gentlemen

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

A Bridge Trip

Jerry limped into the bar on North Street and hauled himself onto a stool.

‘You got money this time Jerry?’

‘Not  ‘xactly.’

‘You know the rules, NO credit.’

Lowering his voice Jerry leant in, ‘Ben, listen, there’s a hole in the pavement on Murray Bridge. No sign. Nothing. I sorta tripped and hurt myself. A guy helped me and said I’ll get comperation, that’s cash aint it?’’

He wiped a grubby hand across his mouth, watching Ben pour a beer for a paying customer.

Ben laughed, then pushed a beer towards him, ‘Jerry, you’re unbelievable. Get a job, it’s safer.’

 

 

 

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Prussia Cove


Thank you to Rochelle, the hard-working captain of the good ship Friday Fictioneers and thanks also to Jen Pendergast for the lovely photo this week, I’ve kept the connection with boats…

copyright Jen Pendergast

                                             copyright Jen Pendergast

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

Prussia Cove

‘Come away from the window Alice.’

‘Mother, I heard their horses.’

‘You know it’s not safe, come away.’

Alice climbed back into her bed. She drifted back to sleep cuddling Charlotte, her new rag doll.  As she slept, her mother lit the torches in the network of tunnels below their house, before running out to help her husband and the other men from the village. Rolls of silk, packets of tobacco, barrels of brandy were swiftly hidden from sight.

‘The King of Prussia’s’ men had relieved another wreck of its cargo, before the customs men came galloping along the beach.

 

The  house above Prussia Cove

Copyright Halsgrove Publishing

Copyright Halsgrove Publishing

For more information on the self-styled King of Prussia and his family 

… and an extract from  ‘A Smuggler’s Song’ by Rudyard Kipling

‘IF you wake at midnight, and hear a horse’s feet,

Don’t go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street,

Them that ask no questions isn’t told a lie.

Watch the wall my darling while the Gentlemen go by.’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Past Imperfect


It’s a lovely morning here, the sun is streaming in though the windows as I write, it looks more like spring than autumn. In any event, it’s a lovely day to wish a very Happy Birthday to Rochelle and to my sister, who also celebrates today.

I watched a building, much older than the one pictured, being pulled down a few days ago, and wondered…

4 September

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Past Forgiving

From a safe distance, I watch the demolition team start work. A small group of people gather at the safety barrier; I recognise a few of them, but doubt many would recognise me, now.

The place that was once my home but became my prison, is reduced to piles of rubble. A workman in the basement shouts something to his supervisor who runs across the street.  

Mrs Goodman leaves the group of onlookers; she glances in my direction, a half smile forming on her thin lips as she walks away. We both know what’s been found; no point hanging around.

 

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