'Blokes Muddling Through'

By P.D.R. Lindsay

In a world turned topsy-turvy, six men grapple with change, bewilderment, and the complexities of middle age. From mysterious sightings of Romans to missing garden gnomes, these men navigate the chaos with wit, grit, and a touch of absurdity. Join them on their hilarious and heartfelt journeys as they search for meaning, redemption, and the courage to save what matters most. These stories will have you laughing, reflecting, and cheering on these lovable misfits as they muddle through life's unpredictable twists and turns.

• Language: English
• Publisher: P.D.R. Lindsay
• Release date: Oct 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9780987669117

P.D.R. Lindsay

p.d.r. lindsay (no capitals please in tribute to a favourite poet, e. e. cummings) makes New Zealand home. Born in Ireland, brought up in Yorkshire, educated in England, Canada and New Zealand, writer p.d.r. lindsay is also Mrs Salmon, Ms Lindsay-Salmon and even for eight years in Japan, Professor Lindsay-Salmon. This wide experience of different cultures colours her writing and keeps her travelling.Social issues are her main concern which is why she writes historical stories about ordinary people, the ones whose names and lives we don't know much about. Reading the diaries and letters of parsons and farmers, wives and daughters, merchants and tradesmen showed her how the basic human dilemmas do not change over the centuries. She finds that certain human trait both good and bad, can be better shown through historical stories than through contemporary ones and hopes that readers will think about those failings as they apply to today.

Book preview

Blokes Muddling Through

Most of these stories were first published in 'Peninsular', a short story magazine, and they were a delight to me as editor, publisher and, above all, reader. It's great to see them again in this e-book. Rowan's stories are not only well written and thoughtful, they're entertaining, a quality which is too often missing in the short story genre these days. Enjoy them, I did.

Shelagh Nugent: editor, publisher, writer, founder of Cherrybite Publications.

Confounded, bemused, even soundly flummoxed by a world turned arse end skyward, where even their own families seem bewitched... . It's the land, they keep muttering to deafened ears, but the winds of profit and of modernity sweep away the very breath that carries their words.In the end, they stand, old, wizened, but never fooled, just watching, listening, seeming like, perhaps, they're just muddling through.But, beware, canny are the actions of the wizened

P. D. R. Lindsay's wonderful anthology carries me back to the days when I, a shy fifteen-year-old, worked side-by-side with old-timers very canny in the ways of the world, of man, of recalcitrant livestock, and, yes, of the land. Rowan.'s stories ring resoundingly, vividly, truly, bringing us to feel, see, and dwell within the honest perspectives of men who often do know better, but who are also, sometimes, willing to swallow their pride for the sake of land, and, yes, for family.

It's a wonderful read that you'll return to again and again, because the stories beckon and resound, unerringly potent and memorable.

D. L. Keur, The Deepening

http://www.thedeepening.com/

Blokes Muddling Through

by P.D.R. Lindsay

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 P.D.R.Lindsay

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover credit: D.L.Keur

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Table of Contents

FRED'S WALL

THE BOBBY CALF PEN

KIDNAPPED

FOR LOVE OF THE LAND

FROGS AND LAMBS

GREEK OLIVES

FRED'S WALL

On Friday the unthinkable happened. Fred's bus was late. There were two things I knew about Fred, he kept mum and he kept time. Something must have happened.

Always mindful of Holliwells' reputation our secretary made discrete enquiries. Her quick 'phone round showed that none of the other drivers had spotted Fred or his bus stranded by the roadside and there was nothing on the police radio. Until definite news came we could do more.

But I wondered. After all it was I who had persuaded a reluctant boss, Mr. Holliwell senior, to hire Fred. What if my star driver had relapsed, taken umbrage at the tour party's behaviour, and driven off leaving them stranded? Fred had been sacked as school bus driver because he'd done just that to a bus load of misbehaving kids. Before driving school buses he had taken early retirement from the municipal bus company, much to the bus company's relief. I never did find out why. It had taken much pleading to get Holliwell's to hire Fred, but he was perfect for the kind of tours I planned to organise. Holliwell's, struggling to upgrade their fleet of buses and stay in business, let me have my way.

Fred, you see, was taciturn. He never chattered, you had to persuade him to talk, which is why he became my most popular driver. Holliwells' Tours now also offered educational trips for the Open University, the University of the Third Age and the intellectual tourist. The last thing these enthusiasts wanted was a jolly, Ho, ho, ho, have you heard this one? bus driver to lower the tone of their educational experience. Fred was a gem, as close as a clam, and a good driver. He enjoyed his job, or so I'd thought.

It's summat to do and I like doin' it, he'd say to me as I handed him his day's clip board full of instructions. He'd taken the trips and tours in his silent stride. Even the boss was pleased.

All I could do was hope that the professor and students had been keen,Fred had obliged, and they'd overrun the schedule. Oh, but it was hard waiting.

Fred drove into the depot at seven. His passengers stepped down briskly and stood in a close group round the driver's door. My anxious enquiries were brushed aside. Fred emerged. Professor Ross caught one arm, her assistant grabbed the other, surrounded by the