A Gateway to Summat or Other

By Fi Woods and Pens of Portland

The Island and Royal Manor of Portland is a unique, special place in many ways, and it evokes deep feelings in people. This small piece of stone, poking out into the sea, is either loved profoundly or detested; Portland doesn't do greys. 

This book is a collection of short stories and poetry written by members of the Pens of Portland.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Veneficia Publications
• Release date: Aug 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781914071775

Book preview

All rights reserved, no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means whatsoever without the prior permission of the publisher.

Edited by Veneficia Publications

&

Fi Woods

Cover Image © Fi Woods LRPS

Typesetting © Veneficia Publications UK

May 2022

VENEFICIA PUBLICATIONS UK

veneficiapublications.com

A Gateway to Summat or Other

written by

The Pens of Portland

&

Compiled by Fi Woods

This book is dedicated to The Island and Royal Manor of Portland, with all our love

CONTENTS

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL DEAD END IN THE WORLD … Fi Woods

TWISTED SPELL GLOSSARY

TWISTED SPELL … Diane Narraway

DIGNITY … Fi Woods

KINGFISHER BY PORTLAND HARBOUR … Chris Preece

INVITATION … Fran Gardner

ROOFTOPS … Chris Preece

DISCOVERING … Fran Gardner

ALL I KNOW IS A DOOR TO THE DARK … Paul Snow

TIME … Chris Preece

IN TIME … Fran Gardner

A HANDFUL OF DUST … Chris Preece

SANDSFOOT BEACH … Dawn Ilsley

THE WHITE STAG … Scott Irvine

WILDLIFE IN FORTUNESWELL ... Chris Preece

ACROSS THE UNIVERSE … Fran Gardner

BEES … Paul Snow

THE LEGEND OF DAVY JONES … Diane Narraway

JUST ANOTHER DAY AT THE OFFICE … Paul Snow

QUIRKY … Fi Woods

ON THE EDGE … Diane Narraway

BEACH … Joanna Ashwanden

THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR … Chris Preece

LEOPARD SPOTS … Joanna Ashwanden

HEART OF STONE … Fi Woods

EVELINE … Chris Preece

SPECIAL DELIVERY … Scott Irvine

THE BLOCKSHIP … Paul Snow

OUR LADY OF THE TATTOOED HEART

… Joanna Ashwanden

KRAMPUS … Diane Narraway

PERIGEE … Chris Preece

HOME TO THE SEA … Fran Gardner

WHEN IS A STONE NOT A STONE? … Fi Woods

PORTALAND … Scott Irvine

PIRATES GRAVEYARD … Kate Knight

LETTER … Joanna Ashwanden

DESTINATIONS … Paul Snow

DREAMS …Fi Woods

INTRODUCTION

Fi Woods

The Pens of Portland is a friendly writing group that meets each month to share and support each other. The members are a diverse group of different ages and levels of experience. Some write prose, some write poetry, some write short stories, some write novels, some are only just discovering writing while others have been doing it for years.

The one thing that unites all of the members is the Island: everyone either lives on the Island, has strong ties to the Island, or simply loves it. Love is the key. Everybody in the group loves the Island deeply and that love is really the only criteria for membership.

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL DEAD END IN THE WORLD

Fi Woods

The regional off-road championship was due to be held in a couple of months, so Pete, practiced. They’d met up at Micah’s house the day before to sort out everything they wanted to take and to make sure they had enough food and lager.

The three men had met four years ago, when they’d placed first, second, and third in a competition. They became friends and, through all the injuries and mishaps delivered by their chosen sport, had grown closer and now treated each other as brothers.

Despite there being considerable distance between each man’s hometown, they all entered the same competitions and practiced together at least once a year. This year, they were heading to Portland in Dorset for a week of riding, tinkering, drinking, and talking about the sport without their wives demanding they do this, that, or the other. It was a particularly important practice week as Track n Trail were holding a Destination Portland–Extreme event, a few weeks after the regional, and anything extreme automatically had them hooked. They didn’t know anything about Portland, but it seemed logical to use their annual week away to kill two birds with one stone.

They checked that their bikes were securely strapped down in the van, checked again that they had everything they needed and set off in Micah’s Ford Transit. It was an enjoyable journey, full of lively chatter about other competitors and which bikes were the best. They were in no rush and stopped now and again to stretch their legs and enjoy the sunshine.

‘It’s a rock,’ said Simon, as they approached the island. They followed directions to Tout Sculpture Park and discovered to their delight that although the car park was small, it was empty and free. ‘Bluddy ’ell,’ was Micah’s comment, as they all looked around.

After walking into the park, they found it to actually be a disused quarry. ‘Will you guys look at this terrain?’ called Pete. He’d wandered off a short distance from the others and found himself standing on a narrow path running along the top of a sheer cliffside. Below him, blinding in the sunlight, was the white of the cliff-face, the higgledy-piggledy pile of white boulders, and the blue of the sea.

‘It’s very beautiful in its own way,’ said Simon, ‘but I don’t fancy our chances of getting any tent pegs in the ground. As far as we’ve all been able to see, the entire landscape appears to be rocks and stone. We’re sleeping in the van, I reckon.’ ‘Floor of the van’s bound to be comfier than lying on this rock, anyway,’ replied Micah. ‘Can you imagine what it’ll do to our bikes if we come a cropper?’ asked Simon. ‘Sod the bikes, what about our bodies?’ replied Pete, ever practical. ‘Hey, what is all this? We wouldn’t do it and love every moment of it if it was nice, safe, soft, and comfortable would we?’ Micah grinned and joined in as Simon and Pete burst out laughing. Their good humour continued as they began comparing previous injuries and scars (as if they’d never done it before!). This prompted much good-natured posturing as each of them fought to hold the honour of being most injured.

As they talked and laughed, the sun began to set over the sea and the temperature started to dip. By consensus, they unloaded their bikes from the van and locked them all together for security. The van’s interior could then be made into a sleeping area; well, a footloose, fancy-free, drinking area, at least.

They awoke in the morning to the sound of the sea and as they stumbled, squinting in the bright sunlight, out of the sun-heated microwave of a van, the saltiness and freshness of the air hit them.

‘Bloody hell, it got hot in there,’ said Micah, ‘and it’s hot out here and we’re going to be wearing full leathers. We’ll melt.’ ‘Perhaps it’ll take a bit of the weight off you,’ teased Pete. ‘’S all muscle, I’ll ’ave you know,’ came the rejoinder, amidst much sniggering. ‘Anyhow,’ put in Simon, ‘We might be able to find a bit of the sea we can actually get down to and have a cooling dip.’ ‘But we didn’t bring beachy stuff,’ objected Pete. ‘Who needs it?’ Micah and Simon said, at exactly the same time, causing all of them to burst out laughing. ‘Right, let’s light a fire for some tea and brekkie, then we can get on with our practise,’ said Practical Pete. They left the van where it was, along with the remains of their fire, food, and last night’s beer cans and were soon having the time of their lives.

They didn’t know where on the island Track n Trail were going to hold their event, but they found plenty of disused quarry space offering a wide variety of challenges and obstacles.

At the end of the day, Micah commented, ‘Utterly mad, ain’t it? Back when I was a kid, watching Kickstart I thought that was hard. I was dead impressed by the guys who got around the course. But compare that to this … well, there just ain’t no comparison is there? I don’t think I’ve ever ached so much in my life. This is brutal—they’re bang on in calling it Extreme.’ Simon chipped in, ‘Sod the idea of going in the sea; all I want to do is get out of my leathers and lie down. I’m not even sure that I could sit up long enough to have a beer.’ ‘You’ll have the side of the van to lean against,’ intervened Practical Pete, ‘You’ll be right. We’ll all be needing beer when we get back. It’s tomorrow we’ll all be feeling it.’

Late that night, or it may have been early the next morning, the guys were woken by tremendous grinding noises. ‘What the feck was that?’ The same question was mirrored in each other’s eyes. ‘Rockfall somewhere, I ’spect,’ concluded Practical Pete, ‘Go back to sleep,’ He turned over and was snoring again within five minutes. Simon and Micah looked at each other, shrugged, and soon they, too, were asleep again.

In houses all across the island, families were looking knowingly at each other, ‘Kimberlin somewhere, disrespecting and despoiling our Island home.’

It seemed that no sooner had the three men gone back to sleep than they were awoken again. This time, though, it was because the van had been jerked up into the air. ‘What the fuck is going on?’ yelled Simon. All three of the men screamed as the side wall suddenly became the floor and they were thrown around. ‘We’ve gotta get out,’ screamed Micah. ‘Where’s the door? Where’s the door?’ yelled Practical Pete as they continued to be tumbled around inside the van. In the blink of an eye, the vehicle and its occupants were violently crushed. The flattened and twisted remains were forcefully torn apart in strong hands and scattered to the wind.

The grinding noise resumed as a massive, solitary figure turned and strode away. A grating, scraping sound indicated that the figure had returned home. For a moment, an air of satisfaction seemed to cross the craggy face as the Portland Giant eased himself back into his place in the cliff wall on the other side of the island.

Portlanders came out of their houses to admire their beautiful Island. They smiled at each other, nodded, acknowledging that once again the Island’s Guardian had dealt with unwanted strangers.

TWISTED SPELL GLOSSARY

Dewbit – first breakfast or snack before breakfast

Hag rod – enchanted/bewitched

Drawlatchet – person who walks slowly and lazily drags their feet

Drinky – drunk

Quob – shake with fear

Piece proud – erection

Peart – healthy full of vitality

Torrididdle – out of one’s mind /nuts

Wrack – consequences

Woolle – wool

Caul – the amniotic membrane, usually referring to a piece which covers the face or head at birth

TWISTED SPELL

Diane Narraway

"Twist the bindweed once for love

Twist it twice for love that last

Twist it hard, then, twist it fast

And knot it