BOOK | doreen

THE BOOK...

... has been divided into sections, each one a topic selected and set by Doreen, as explained in the introduction to each section. Interspersed are limericks and other short poems needing no further description.

As well as poems and limericks, less familiar poetic formats are included: Tanka – 5 lines which don’t normally rhyme the 1st and 3rd lines having 5 syllables , the 2nd, 4th and 5th having seven The third line should represent a turning point in the story. Cinquains have 5 lines: one two syllable word, the subject of the poem, 2nd line two words four syllables, 3rd line three words ending in ing, 4th line a phrase of four words and the 5th line one noun.

Articles marked with an asterisk have already been published in the Writers Abroad Anthologies: Kaleidoscope and Foreign Encounters.

An Appointment With the Doctor*

In our first year as French residents, we set ourselves tasks that involved speaking only French. A trip to the Trésor to arrange direct debits for the payment of taxes, speaking to EDF about a payment plan for our electricity, asking the butcher if he could provide some pork with the crackling left on, please.

Each of these tasks would involve much dictionary checking and muttering to ourselves; we would return from them both jubilant and charmed by the helpfulness of French Officialdom, or downhearted and maddened by their refusal to understand a word we uttered.

And so it was with apprehension that I checked my dictionary before my first visit to the doctor. I was anxious to get it right as I knew that with a continuing health problem, I was likely to be there fairly often. So, armed with a few pertinent phrases and a clutch of medical terms, I set off at 10 o’clock for the surgery. As there was no appointment system, I knew that I would have to wait.

In England I had belonged to a large health centre practice where everything was generated by computer, electronic touch screens and self-locking doors; fortunately the doctors were still real. Opening the door of the small waiting room here was like stepping back into Doctor Finlay’s Casebook. Everyone smiled and “bonjoured” as I collected my form from the receptionist and sat down to wait.

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Section One - Real Life - La Vie En France

.As a member of Writers Abroad, Doreen was keen for us to submit pieces for their Anthologies and Foreign Encounters gave us the opportunity of writing about our experiences since coming to France. Accepted items are marked with an asterisk but we continued to write on this subject as future incidents occurred.

Section Two - Light

This was the theme for Writers Abroad anthology Kaleidoscope and successful submissions are marked with an asterisk. The word conjures up so many different meanings that it produced a great variety of prose and poetry.

Changing Lights*

Twilight
Misty, secret
Shading, purpling, creeping
Night falling and hush descending
Silence

Moonlight
Silver, friendly
Spreading, hiding, showing
The world in a different way
Secrets

Sunlight
Golden, joyful
Warming, healing, cheering
Driving away dismal winter
Welcome

Starlight
Night-seen, pin-points
Piercing, twinkling, guiding
Mankind through history and time
Distant

Section Three - Relationships

This section covers a wide variety of poems and prose written at different times on diverse subjects but which we have gathered together under the heading of Relationships.

She

I pleaded with her that night as I had done on many nights, but as usual she wouldn't listen. She was too wrapped up in her own needs. I could call her selfish now, but as I was merely a child then, I didn’t know the word.

She was going dancing with her girlfriends as she so often did. She looked so pretty in her gown, all sparkly and elegant, shoes to match the colour of her dress. She was happy and looked it.

Why did she not believe me? I thought she loved me; a mother's love is supposed to be pure. Why did she think I would invent such a story? Had I been the sort of child who invented things in the past? I had always been honest and tried to help her with my younger brothers and help with jobs around the house. All of her friends thought I was the model daughter. Did I look normal? Could they, and she, for that matter, detect a change in me? Was I outwardly different to the horrible, disgusting person I felt on the inside? I ask these questions of myself all the time. After the first time, did my teachers not report that a different student had turned up at school? Surely I would have acted differently. I must have been in shock, or at least distracted, but no one picked up on my mental state.

I knew what was waiting for me as soon as she left the house. I had already felt the dread seeping into my heart and the fear taking me over. Is it normal for a girl of my age to cry and plead and beg not to be left with another parent?

Shaken But Not Stirred - An Earthquake Experience

Budva on the coast of Montenegro is 3,500 years old and has been ruled by the Greeks, Romans, Venetians and Austrians, to name but a few, becoming part of the Republic of Yugoslavia after WW1. Montenegro finally gained independence in 2006. But let me take you back to Easter 1979, Sunday morning the 15th April.

My husband, five-year old daughter and I were just waking up around 7.30, when there was a tremendous bang and the hotel shook. Wardrobe doors and drawers flew open and a zigzag crack appeared in the wall. Tiles fell off the bathroom walls and mirrors cracked. I peered out of the door to see a wide gap in the corridor floor. People were shouting “GET OUT!” so we grabbed our daughter and two teddies, Bonzo and Bruno and as the lifts were out of action, ran down four flights of stairs in our night clothes and bare feet trying to avoid broken glass and rubble. How we managed to reach the bottom without bleeding, I don’t know. Outside, staff were huddled round a radio and it was only at that point that we realised there had been a massive earthquake, 7.2 on the Richter scale. Budva and surrounding villages were badly damaged, around 200 people had been killed, five hotels due to open the following week had collapsed like a pack of cards, the road tunnel had caved in and telephone lines were down.

Section Four - True Stories

Section Five - Humour

We attempted various types of poetry formats and this section particularly lent itself to Limericks. It also includes some prose in the same vein.

Come Dine in the Jungle

Would you pick up a book called ‘Come Dine in the Jungle’? I came across this book in a charity shop, of all places and, naturally, I couldn’t resist a look and read the back which said:

Ever wanted to eat Jungle food but been too scared to try? These recipes are cleverly designed to look like the meals that would have you screaming “I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here!” but are actually made from everyday ingredients. Impress and scare your mates at dinner parties.

There was just the one recommendation:

A great stocking-filler or one of those typically stupid presents that you always give to your uncle or brother or teenage sister just to make her puke. Piers Morgan – Daily Mail

This find surprised me not only because the charity shop had it on display, but that someone had discarded such an interesting recipe book. Well, you would be forgiven for thinking that Heston Blumenthal was behind these recipes, except for the overwhelming difference in that these meals look like jungle food, but are in fact – and I know this because I have tried them myself – alarmingly delicious.

I just had to buy it and was very taken with the ‘Dinner for Extremely Hungry Guests’ chapter which describes a set meal for four and suggests that you serve dinner as late as possible to ensure that your guests are well motivated to try the first mouthful, mostly because they are starving, but also ensures us that once this hurdle is crossed, there will be no stopping them. All recipes are accompanied by full colour pictures and step-by-step techniques to achieve realistic results. The top tip here is if you don’t fancy taking a bite, then you’ve got it right.

They Came, They Saw, They...

The four of them arrived at 10pm to meet up with the others by the War Memorial next to the Cemetery. The old building that had previously been a Workhouse stood in the shadows, a big, dark, monstrosity dating back to the 1800s.

Climbing in through an open downstairs window they pulled their rucksacks after them and mounted the old, broken staircase. Finding a room that had previously been a bedroom, still with an iron bedframe standing in one corner, they unpacked their bed-rolls and prepared to make themselves comfortable.

“We’ll just stay for a few hours,” one of them whispered. Spreading themselves around the room they settled down to wait.

They all heard the creaking of bedsprings at the same time and instantly became alert, the hairs on the backs of their necks standing on end. All eyes strained to see the bed in the darkness. It seemed as though the whole thing was alive with writhing snakes that eventually started to turn into arms and legs. Huge gaping mouths that appeared to float without faces or bodies danced and played a tune on the old springs.

Section Six - Horror

Doreen often gave us more unusual formats and in this case, it was to write a horror story in one or two sentences, which occupies most of this section.

Section Seven - Write a Story on a Given Subject

What Doreen found very interesting was the variety of ways in which we tackled a subject when we were all given the same title, which is why we are including multiple examples: Last Tree Standing in the Forest; It was a Good Idea at the Time; A Meeting by the Lake; It was a Terrible Misunderstanding; Wrong Number.

Rosemary

Sarah hurriedly parked her car and scurried down to the lake. She was earlier than usual. Deliberately. She wanted to see if the old lady was there. Would today be the day she actually spoke to her?

Sarah first noticed her a few weeks ago, intrigued because she – like Sarah herself – was wandering around without a dog. Everyone else tended to amble along with a mutt in tow. Sarah went there to let the scenery soothe her after a disastrous relationship has gone the way of all disastrous relationships. She sensed a sadness in the old lady, perhaps it was in the way she walked because Sarah had never got close enough to see her face.

As usual, she made her way to her favourite bench. “In memory of Rosemary, who loved this spot”. Sarah always smiled at the inscription. That made two of them, she thought.

Today she stopped suddenly, aware that someone was already sitting on “her” bench. She gasped when she saw it was the old lady. “Hi,” said Sarah. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Please do,” said the old lady softly.

“I’ve seen you here a few times,” said Sarah impulsively.

The old lady nodded, but said nothing.

The Engnimatic Russian Prince

Her laughter broke the silence. Joe gave her a withering look.

Gina has been told to concentrate on the subject, but she is having great difficulty because Joe, her guide and mentor, has just appeared wearing a clown's outfit which, as one would expect, has changed his appearance almost completely. Normally Joe is a serious man who treads around silently in deep thought and is usually quiet and not inclined to chat. He is below average height with a prematurely balding head of otherwise thick dark hair which hangs around his broad shoulders with a will all its own. This is evident even in his current getup. Gina rather likes the look of Joe. To her he has the look of an enigmatic Russian Prince. Which is half the problem, really, half the reason why she is here. The other half is her inability to say no to a challenge.

Gina manages to suppress her outburst but is unable to concentrate and instead she thinks back to what got her here in the first place. It seemed to happen all by itself. One minute she was in the Spotted Dog enjoying a girls’ night out over a few drinks, the next she was deep in conversation with Joe. She was probably a little bit drunk by this point; otherwise she would never have had the courage to speak to Joe whom she has admired from afar for months. To be honest, that was one of the reasons she agreed to the whole girls’ night out in the first place. The Spotted Dog is Joe’s regular haunt where he can be found on week-nights enjoying a pint of real ale while practising his card-tricks on the locals.

Gina can’t remember the details how she got started in discussions about the merits of magic and memory tricks in pubs, but there she was talking to Joe and she found that she could say anything as long as she could gaze into those deep dark eyes and listen to the calm voice emanating from Joe’s perfectly formed lips. What smooth skin he has, she observed, for a man with such thick hair.

“You’re up for it, then?” suggests Joe, tapping his fingers impatiently on the table. Obviously, Gina has agreed to something but she was hardly listening to what he was saying, she just loved to hear him speak.

“Uh? Up for what, exactly?”

Section Eight - Pick a Number

Another of our exercises was for each of us to pick a different number, which represented a title. Here is a selection: Stock of Paper Inches from the Shredder; Disastrous Family Picnic; Dishonesty Doesn’t Pay; and Deceit.

Section Nine - First Sentence Given

Doreen would give us an opening sentence of a story, which we had to continue. Again it was interesting to see how differently each person dealt with it. Here is a selection under each one: The rain tap, tap, tapped against the windows as Maggie sat in the kitchen sipping her tenth cup of coffee. It was way past noon, yet she was still in her ratty bathrobe and bunny slippers. But she didn’t care. She didn’t care at all; It was 4 am and the Phone Rang; She touched the little box in her pocket and smiled; Her laughter broke the silence.

Disastrous Family Picnic

“Do we have to?” sulked Isobel.

“Do we have to?” echoed Toby, her younger brother. Their mother, Sarah, continued to make the sandwiches and pack salads, fruit and crisps, as well as lemonade and coffee.

“Don’t be difficult, go and get ready,” she said. “We need to leave in half an hour.”

It was the Whit Bank Holiday and the Lloyd family had been enjoying a picnic by the sea on this day every year since they could remember, except for one year when the kids had inconveniently caught chickenpox. But Isobel was now 14 going on 20 and wanted to spend the day at a pop concert with her friends and Toby just 12 wanted to play football with his friends.

On arrival they found a suitably sheltered spot and to the accompaniment of groans and moans, Sarah laid out the picnic. “I don’t like corned beef,” grumbled Toby.

“I don’t like pâté,” whined Isobel “And Toby’s tipped his lemonade over my bread so it’s all soggy.”

“Enough, the two of you,” cried their father, Tim. “You can go without. Take a long walk along the beach and come back in a better mood.”

The parents finished their lunch alone and sat back in their deckchairs, taking in the warm sun and nodding off. Waking up an hour or so later, they realised the children were not in sight and they peered at the sea but could not recognise them. Thinking they might purposely be hiding, they called out but there was no response.

Section Ten - Seasons

We attempted various types of poetry formats and this section particularly lent itself to Limericks. It also includes some prose in the same vein.

Christmas - Seen Through the Eyes of a Child

The smell of Christmas puddings as they bubble on the stove wrapped in muslin in the saucepans. The 1950’s homemade paper chains snaking along the walls to decorate our home. The longed for “real” Christmas tree as opposed to the tired, old and very first artificial Christmas tree that was ever made. Travelling in the Rhondda Valley in the car with my father. This was before seat belts and we were surrounded by raw chickens, plucked and ready to be cooked as we delivered them to various people to be eaten on Christmas Day. The presents hidden in the attic but still expertly found by my sister and I.

The build-up for Christmas started from Ducking Apple Night onwards, then Bonfire Night with fireworks in the garden, a few bright lights, a Catherine Wheel that never really wheeled, a number of bangs but enough to keep a child excited and wanting more. The next day brought the smell of spent fireworks heralding something even better to come.

Now that’s over, not so long now, until the biggest and best time.

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EXTRACTS - From the book

To give you a little taster, we have reproduced some extracts from the book, but not the complete story - if you want to know what happens, you'll have to buy a copy and find out! There are eleven sections in the book, each one representing a specific collection, which is described. One story or poem has been chosen from each section.

Section Eleven - Single Letters

This exercise involved taking a single letter from the alphabet. Here are examples from the given letters D and F

There can be drawbacks living in France. It seems I‘m going to miss out on a Mouse Taxidermy Workshop, run by one Margot Magpie, at the Barbican in London. It costs £65, including all tools and materials, but is
sold out. The price also included entry to the Magnificent Obsessions Exhibition, which I am sure is fascinating.

Margot Magpie, a taxidermy artist, introduces participants to the processes and techniques behind basic taxidermy. I could have learnt how to skin, prep, preserve, mount and position a mouse and would have been able to
take home my creation. Just think of what I could do with all the mice dragged in by the cats. Publicity for the course features a stuffed, bespectacled white mouse sitting in an armchair and reading a copy of Haley's 2007 Complete Guide to Etiquette.

I was told: "No experience is necessary to take part and all tools and materials are provided. This workshop is open to adults (over 18) only." But, there again, how many people actually have experience in mouse taxidermy?

DOREEN PORTER