Free Spirits


Thanks to Roger Bultot for the photo this week and huge thanks to Rochelle who continues her amazing balancing act – author, artist, Fairy Blogmother…

6 May

Copyright Roger Bultot

Genre: Family History

Word Count: 100

Free Spirits

‘Will you catch one for me Fred, please?’

‘They’re wild birds Florrie, I can’t catch them.’

‘Oh, please get me one Fred, please.’

That night he made a small cage and hung it from a branch of the apple tree.

‘That’s as close as I get to catching one for you, sis.’

The soldiers lined up early next morning. Fred looked very smart; my ma cried at the sight of him marching away.

‘Don’t forget to check the cage Florrie,’ he shouted.

‘I’ll check it every day till you’re home.’

I never caught a bird.

Fred never came home.

 

 click Mr Frog for more stories.

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Barriers


22April

Copyright Madison Woods

Genre: Fiction

Word Count:100

Barriers

‘Dad, there a truck outside full of barbed wire, d’you know anything about it?’

‘It’s for river meadow. I’m sick of that bloody woman’s dogs worrying our sheep, time to get tough.’

‘You don’t know her dogs are to blame, more likely a fox.’

‘It’s her fault!

I don t know why he hated her. Since I bumped into her in the village, we’ve got on really well. She liked the fact our hair is almost the same colour.

My mother left us when I was small; it’s good to have a woman to talk to occasionally.

Dad wouldn’t understand.

 

For more stories  (Sorry the little blue froggy thing is on strike)

New beginning


Thanks to Sandra Crook for the photo prompt this week and belated congratulations on her well deserved competition win, a great story.  Thanks as always to Rochelle who nevers wavers in support and encouragement.

19 Feb

Genre: Fiction

Word Count:100

New Beginning

‘What will you do Grace, have you decided?’

‘For goodness sake Lewis, she only buried Edward this morning, she has yet to come to terms with being alone.’

Grace smiled. She had been ‘alone’ in the sense that Sarah meant it, for years. The Turner twins, friends since childhood, took sibling rivalry to new heights. They wouldn’t understand what she was about to do; she decided against explanation.

Edward’s death was sudden, unexpected. The twins, like the rest of her circle who expected tears and sadness, were perplexed by Grace’s calm exterior. Meanwhile, her heart, sensing freedom, was soaring.

 

 

(For some reason I can’t add the little blue froggy link, to read more stories go to Rochelle’s blog and click on the link there)

 

 

Grace


Another wet week in Wales, no wonder it’s so green here…… Thanks as always to our fairy blogmother Rochelle and this week’s thanks for the photo prompt, go to the sometimes poetic always interesting CE Ayr

29 January 2016

Copyright CE Ayr

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Grace

Grace shielded her eyes against the glare.  At the end of the track stood the white-washed farmhouse they’d been searching for.  Forty years ago, for reasons that were inescapable, she had turned away from Jack and married Edward.  She had kept their secret all this time, until Edward’s death set her free.

In the lavender fields of France, the powerful scent calmed her nerves.  The long journey was almost over.  Grace saw someone on a tractor in the distance and a moment of panic gripped her, she started to shake.

Amy gently took her hand,’go on gran, it will alright’

 

Dream Flight


Happy New Year!  I hope you all enjoyed the holidays, however you celebrated them. It’s good to be back at Friday Fictioneers Central. Huge thanks to Rochelle for finding time to organise this group in between writing novels, visiting family or icing the odd cake, and my thanks to all who contribute each week making this a fantastic group to be a part of.

Copyright Melanie Greenwood

                                        Copyright Melanie Greenwood

Genre: Fiction

Word count: 100

Dream Flight

‘Would you really buy one, if you won the Lottery?’

‘Well it’s on my list. I’d love one.  Just think of the freedom, taking off whenever you wanted…’

‘What else is on your list?’

‘A long stay at a health farm, I fancy the one in Arizona where all the celebs go to get their fat sucked out.’

They both laughed as Mel placed the magazine back on the bedside cabinet.  She sat on the bed, reaching for her best friend’s hand. There would be no flight or health farm visit; they both knew it, but it helped to dream.

 

 

 

And The Band Played On


Thanks to Rochelle for continuing to keep the Fictioneers in tune and to David Stewart for his photo this week, there was a bandstand like this one, in the park near where I grew up, those were the days…

Copyright David Stewart

                        Copyright David Stewart

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

And The Band Played On

‘When we’re married, you won’t go away to sea anymore will you, Wallace?’

‘No love, I promise. But these jobs bring in more money than I was earning in the orchestra.  I get to see more of the world too.’

Maria smiled, sensing it was best to leave things there. He had promised.

The letter telling him the band had been transferred to the White Star Line came three days later.

‘Look, I’ve been assigned as the new bandleader love, I could make some good contacts for the future.’

With Maria’s blessing he boarded RMS Titanic on 10th April 1912

♫ ♫ ♫

Wallace Hartley was born in my home town of Colne in Lancashire.  A large bust of him stood outside the library and I used to pass it most Saturdays when I went shopping with my mother. The story of how the band played on as the Titanic sank, was told to every pupil. The town is very proud of its famous son. You can read more about him here

Wallace_Hartley wikipedia

Photo courtesy of Wikipedia

 

180px-Wallace_Hartley_memorial

Photo courtesy of Wikipedia

 

 click Mr Blue for more stories

An Invitation


I love the old desk in the photo this week and wonder how many ‘letters’ we will receive…

Thanks to Mr Fields for the photo and for Mrs Fields for continuing to mark our work and support our efforts.

Copyright Jan Fields

Copyright Jan Wayne Fields

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

An Invitation

Dearest Ellen

My words will be a shock to you and I beg you be seated whilst you read them.

When I refused Henry’s proposal, I know you were saddened as you wanted us to be sisters.  My disposition would not have suited your brother and I believed the wedded state was not for me.

I write to you to confess that I was wrong in my belief and have accepted the proposal of marriage from Arthur Nicholls. The wedding will be in June, my dearest wish is that you will be my witness.  

Your loving and devoted friend

Charlotte

 

Read more Friday Fictioneers stories – I insist 

 

This letter could have been written by Charlotte Bronte to her dear friend Ellen Nussey. Ellen’s brother Henry did propose to Charlotte and she did refuse him citing her disposition as the main reason they would not get on.  Charlotte married her father’s curate Arthur Bell Nicholls in June 1854.  Sadly the marriage was happy but short, Charlotte died on 31 March 1855 in the early stages of pregnancy.

If you would like to read more the link will take you to the website of the  Bronte Society

Bronte Society

Bronte Society – Ellen Nussey

 

 

 

 

Thank you for teaching us to whistle…RIP Lauren Bacall


Copyright- Getty

copyright Getty Images

It was with great sadness that I learned this morning of the death of Lauren Bacall. I grew up listening to my mother talk about her films, her love for Bogart, her voice and just how wonderful she was.

During a weekend stay in London many years ago, we were walking back from a restaurant to our hotel, when we saw her walking towards us. We were in Park Lane and it was quite late. She was all alone, hands thrust into the deep pockets of her raincoat, just walking down the road in the rain.

‘Look’ I said in a louder than expected whisper to my husband, ‘it’s Lauren Bacall.’

She turned toward us and said in that amazing voice of hers, ‘Yes it is, but keep it under your hat.’

 

 

Almost A Family


Copyright – Bjorn Rudberg

 

Almost A Family

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

They stood facing each other in the bare, dimly lit room.

‘Do you want this?’

‘Yes, they are my family.’

He tossed the album into the box labelled ‘’Irina”.

“What about this?

He held up a grubby blue teddy bear, waving it menacingly from side to side as he walked towards her.

‘Don’t, please not again.’ The blow knocked her to the floor.

‘I would have had a family too, if you hadn’t lost him. Now you’re trying to leave. You were very careless Irina, what shall I do with you?’

He lunged for her.

And never saw the knife.

 

Read more stories here 

The dark cloud from last week has lifted – yay!  However, the photo from Bjorn reminded me of a story I read in the press a while ago, about a body being discovered in an abandoned, almost derelict house. The authorities had a very tangled web to unravel to discover what happened.  So colour me ‘dark’ again this week.

Thank you to our ever patient Chef de Mission – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields and to all the other Friday Fictioneers who write such brilliant stories each week.

 

Moonlight on The Ebro


I thought I wasn’t going to make it again this week – apologies to Doug for missing his very intriguing photo prompt last week.  I have been attending a conference in Italy – no, it was not lovely, nor was I lucky.  The trip went something like this – 2 hour drive – 2.5 hour flight – 2 hours on a bus – 3 hour conference – half hour bus ride – 3.5 hour dinner (no time to change after arriving) 1 hour to hotel – 6 hours sleeping – 1 hour working breakfast – 3 hours of meetings – 2 hours on a bus – 2.5 hour flight back – 2 hour drive back home.

Are you exhausted?  I was!

Thanks this week to Bjorn Rudberg for the photo prompt and as always to Rochelle for brilliantly shepherding the Friday Fictioneers into some semblance of order each week.

24 April

For some reason, I saw Spanish Civil War…

Genre: Historical fiction

Word Count:100

Moonlight on The Ebro

I remember.

The Ebro shimmered in the moonlight, unimpressed by our consuming passion. We lay holding each other so tight, we could scarcely breathe. The Brigade left quietly, at daybreak.

I taste the saltiness of tears and open my eyes. The music of the street floats in through faded shutters, it stirs memories of ‘Viva la Quinta Brigada’ your anthem, our song.

I am old, tired. I’ve waited a lifetime for my passionate fighter, mi amante.

In the cool evening air, I feel again the pressure of your strong arms. I fall freely, as I did all those years ago.

—o—o—o—o—o

 

For more information on the Spanish Civil War and of the men who went to fight against fascism in Spain –  The International Brigade

 

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