Yet More Voices of Herefordshire

By John Wood

Herefordshire is famous for red-faced cattle, ancient castles and churches, cider, music, hops, and poetry. Here the Black Prince learned his fighting skills against the unruly Welsh, but the quiet rural county lies now peacefully between the Radnorshire Black Mountains and the Malvern Hills, and has been largely undisturbed since the English Civil War. This recent collection of serious and humorous short stories and poems commemorates Kate Jones - an outstanding teacher of creative writing. It is the third book of Herefordshire Voices written by her close group of friends and pupils.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Wood
• Release date: Dec 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9780992989224

Book preview

YET MORE VOICES OF HEREFORDSHIRE

An Anthology of Poems and Short Stories

by the Barnabas Writing Group

Editor John Wood

Published by Woodavens Books at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 John Wood.

Smashwords Edition - Licence Notes. This book is licenced for your personal enjoyment and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and it has not been purchased for you, then please visit Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.

A TRIBUTE TO KATE JONES

by Paul Young

This little book is a tribute to the memory of Kate Jones from the members of a writing group which, for more than two decades, met weekly under her leadership and direction throughout the winter and spring of every year. She was a woman of great good humour, firm friendship and deep insight. She enlarged the lives of all who knew and worked with her and she is sadly missed by us all. The short pieces which follow were largely inspired and created under her leadership and kind guidance, and many began as pieces of weekly homework which we hoped Kate would select to read out in class. We have put them together to help us fix memories of our time together and to show great gratitude for her life and friendship, but with perhaps just a little trepidation, knowing that somewhere in heaven she will affectionately be marking us all with red ink.

The short stories and poems of this anthology follow the earlier collections - Voices of Herefordshire in 1994 and More Voices of Herefordshire in 2003.

Names of contributors to Yet more Voices of Herefordshire appear in the Contents. For several years the class has met on a Thursday morning in St. Barnabas Church Hall, Venn's Lane, Hereford.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

In Weobley Church by Elizabeth Rumsey

My House by Romayne Peters

Misty Morning by Jill Lawson

Buying a Carpet in India by Ann Foley

Thought for the Day by Helen Beach

Home Sweet Home by John Wood

First Footing by Peter Holliday

Tree Pearls by Jean Heaven

Reasons to be Cheerful by Faith Bellamy

The Revolting House-Wife by Faith Bellamy

An Absent Friend by John Wood

Back to School by Jennifer Budd

The Artist's House by Elizabeth Rumsey

The Dreamer by Jill Lawson

Too Much Black by Helen Beach

The Fete by Jill Lawson

The Retreat by Wilma Hayes

A Baker’s Dozen by Bronwen Wild

A Psalm for the Senses by Jill Lawson

Smithers by Peter Holliday

War in Abertaled by Haydn Lloyd

Next of Kin by Jim Valdez

Tale of Two Loves by Jill Lawson

You Remember Jenny by Paul Young

Blues by Peter Holliday

The Seat of Idris by Ron Roberts

Slow Moving Hereford by John Wood

Hoot of Hate by John Wood

A Most Unusual Woman by Ann Foley

Rainbow in the Sky by Romayne Peters

Two Umbrellas by Paul Young

A Tale of Old Herefordshire by Faith Bellamy

Salad Days by Jennifer Budd

A Mirror by Romayne Peters

The Veiled Lady by Romayne Peters

A Day for Ducks by Gill Clifford

Oddments Drawer by Jill Lawson

My San Jose Home by Dot Ellison

3 AM New Years Day 1998 by Paul Young

Appreciation by Jill Lawson

Easter by Louisa Boughton

The Word by Romayne Peters

Six Women - 1940 by Wilma Hayes

Beginnings by Romayne Peters

Attachments by Bronwen Wild

Dragons by Helen Beach

Hill Farm by Peter Holliday

Renewal by Haydn Lloyd

Growing Old by Jill Lawson

Salad Days by Jill Lawson

Late Summer Sun by Jennifer Budd

The Kindness of Sergeants by Jim Valdez

In Memoriam by John Wood

A Tree of Delights by Ann Foley

The Wind by Jill Lawson

Top Drawer by John Wood

Home by Jill Lawson

Mixed Emotions by Faith Bellamy

I wish I were a Wiggly Worm by Jennifer Budd

Time by Romayne Peters

Eve and the Apple by Paul Young

Food by Louisa Boughton

On Passing my old Home in the Rain by Paul Young

Things my Mother Said by Wilma Hayes

Family Life by Bronwen Wild

Collecting the Male by Haydn Lloyd

Crow by Peter Holliday

Haikus by John Wood

Calvus et Calvinesta by Paul Young

The Name by Ann Foley

Remembrance by Ann Foley

Overboard by John Wood

Late Autumn Sonnet by Jill Lawson

Paths of Love by Romayne Peters

Bed Time Stories for Boys by Faith Bellamy

Wind Band by Jennifer Budd

Snow by Louisa Boughton

Close Shave by Wilma Hayes

Redemption by Bronwen Wild

Homage to the Eternal Woman by Haydn Lloyd

Mixed Doubles by Ann Foley

Unregarded Blackbird by Paul Young

A Meeting of Minds by Bronwen Wild

Sfumato and the Mona Lisa by John Wood

Wuff Trade by Haydn Lloyd

Snapshots of Love by Elizabeth Rumsey

Goodbye from Kate by Dot Ellison.

IN WEOBLEY CHURCH

FOR KATE

by

Elizabeth Rumsey

Earth, earthed. Foundations

Of memories and prayers.

Here we stand,

hands cupped in expectation.

Will some elusive echo

sound within our ears,

Lift us on that eagle’s wings

to sing and praise the elusive God?

Stone faces and armoured knights

stare through the years,

Peering up at this new generation .

Like us they strained to fly

With the angels,

join those swallows in the sky.

We feel a deep thankfulness.

MY HOUSE

by

Romayne Peters

My house has many windows

Yet none look out to sea.

So sandy dunes and ocean swells

Are only imagined by me.

My house hasn’t much of a garden,

A few shrubs and a favourite tree,

My Rowan, bright russet in autumn

A delight for all to see.

My house may mean nothing to others

They who travel the world to see.

I do not roam. Why should I

When home’s the best place to be?

Of course visitors come

And I love them to stay

Though my home’s not quite mine

Till they’ve gone away.

My home may have certain shortcomings

Life’s lonely but at least I am free,

It’s just good to live in my own space

It’s my home and suits me.

MISTY MORNING

by

Jill Lawson

Inside in Technicolor, the book is red, the carpet green,

The duvet on my bed is sprigged with varied hues, it seems

That every shade and hue is present in this place of dreams.

While outside, on an Autumn morning all is grey;

The gentle dawning of a new born day is monochrome.

Leaves merge into a single blur, there is no view

Beyond the next door’s fence, still wet with dew.

I cannot hear the birdsong with the windows closed.

Yet they composed a plainchant as they posed

On telephone wires, a minim each;

Here, with my book and tea in easy reach,

I am cocooned from the rigours of the day.

But in my haven-nest, away at present

From the demands that day will bring.

The mixed blessings of the postman’s offering,

The pain and portent of the paper’s pages,

Recession and redundancy and wages

Inadequate to meet real or imagined needs,

The constant battle with encroaching weeds.

But this illusion that began the day will fade,

The sun will burn away the morning mist;

And give us (please Lord) one more golden day, sun-kissed,

When what once seemed so colourless and drear,

With glow with Autumn colour bright and clear,

The thrush will sing with cheerful repetition,

Robin come to share my morning coffee,

A crumb of hospitality.

Life has been good to me!

And I will take the grey days with the gold,

Continue to rejoice though growing old.

BUYING A CARPET IN INDIA

by

Ann Foley

You must buy a carpet when you go to India. We are in Cochin in Kerala, South India. It is rather out of the usual way. This morning we have been to St. Francis Church, which is a fifteenth century Portuguese/Dutch church, Cochin Fort and the Jewish Synagogue. Our guide now stops outside a Government Emporium where he advises us that the goods in the store are all guaranteed and the prices are very good. Reluctantly we get out of the car and are introduced to an attractive young Indian who takes us straight to the carpet warehouse.

We tell him as kindly as possible that we do not want a carpet. He charmingly says Of course not, but I show you anyway. Let me show you how they are made. We feel churlish; there can’t be any harm in seeing how they are made. Our first mistake, but so difficult to say No.

We see a mock-up of the start of a carpet, the many strings involved, the warp and the weft, and he tells us how a child sorts the different silks and every pattern is quite unique.

I notice our man has hazel eyes and wears a western-made pink shirt with the sleeves rolled up and designer jeans. An assistant serves us cinnamon-flavoured tea in glass cups and we are made to sit down and look at the many carpets for sale. We say again We do not want one.

Then he says Of course not, but what carpet colours would possibly suit your house?

John looks at me. I look at our carpet seller and say None of these would suit our house in England but since you insist, coral colours would be good with blue, possibly and I make my second mistake.

This is difficult for him but he finds us one and rolls it out. Then another, then another. We say again we do not want one. I am thinking of my new kitchen extension at home, we are saving up for that. I try to explain to him. He has very good English and a charming way.

He says Of course not, but if you could have only one of these carpets, which would it be? John looks at me. We tell him again we do not want one, but since you ask – that one! This is our third mistake, but if he put a knife to my throat and had John’s arm in a Half Nelson, we would have gone for a dark blue carpet with complicated lozenges and touches of coral.

He now gets out his pocket calculator and after lots of tapping he says 886. That sounds pretty good to us if that is rupees. He tells us that is in pounds. We say, yes that is a good price but we don’t want a carpet! He says Wait a minute, I make another price. Again the clicking of the calculator. John and I are squirming in our seats. Our guide and driver are nowhere to be seen. The next price is £663. We say again, the carpet is lovely but no we do not want it.

He tells us his family is in Kashmir. They have been allowed the use of this building to sell their carpets. It is very hot and he mops his brow. He is getting nowhere.

John looks at me with a query in his eyes. I shake my head. No, we don’t need this carpet. Where would we put it? Our charming Kashmiri mops his brow