Post-U3A Short Story Group

The Knitting Club

2011-02-18T02:25:00.000-08:00

The Knitting Club
"It's quiet today," said Marie. "I thought the streets would be busy now the rain's stopped."
"They'll soon fill up. Look! There are others coming now.
More women joined their group and soon, they were sitting comfortably in their usual seats, exchanging all the gossip, their needles click clacking away in a steady rhythym.
"We've knitted a big pile of wool since we started coming here," said Janine, "My husband has never been so well off for socks. This pair is for that miserable father of his. He finds fault with everything I do. 'My wife didn't cook like that' he says when I put his meal on the table. And from what I can gather, she didn't cook much at all." She sniffed". I believe she was just as lazy and miserable as he is."
As she grumbled, the needles carried on with their relentless beat.
"Times are difficult and he must miss his wife," said another.
"Times are difficult for us all but we have to make the most of it. We could all be sitting at home
moping. But here we are, meeting friends and enjoying ourselves," laughed Marie.
They chatted and compared garments. Some knitted the complicated stitches that their mothers taught them while others joined Janine in knitting socks. Sometimes, a ripple of raucous laughter would ripple through the group as they recalled other days when they had met llike this. Now and then, there would be a lull in their converation as they listened carefully. Janine's eyes narrowed in anticipation.
Then it came, the roar that they had been waiting for.
"I can hear them. They're coming," shouted a young man.
The tumbrils rolled into the Place de la Revolution, their wooden wheels rattling on the cobbled street. Some of the arisocrats still proud, standing erect, as they came to face Madame Guillotine
And the needles clacked on relentlessly as the knitters waited for the afternoon's entertainment.

Handbell - Short Story by Alan K Tillman

2011-02-15T08:35:00.000-08:00

Handbell by Alan K Tillman

My place is on the table, topped in green baize, near the door to the playground. It’s the door marked ‘Fire Exit’. Here I sit, have done since 1935 when I was cast, just one duty five time a week. The caretaker has polished me twice: the day war broke out and when Winnie said ‘pooh’ to Hitler. I’ve grown a nice patina in the 15 years since.

My dome has a skirt engraved with ‘Barnsole Road School, 1935’ on it. I was a sort of commemorative gift by the governors. My handle is turned yew and would polish up a treat - given half a chance. I had a new clapper leather when old Higginbotham got a fright in a thunderstorm in ’43 but otherwise am ‘as found’ as they say.

Some children pass me as they go to play after their milk. That’s at ten twenty. Strong, healthy kids they’ll be. ‘Teeth strong as ivory castles,’ I heard the nurse say one day. They don’t notice me, going about their business; just like a fixture I am. Those kids don’t really need a bell to bring them in again when their playtime is up. But later they all pass me when everyone has to go out after school dinners; they ought to call them school lunches but they’re a bit working class round here. Talking of fixtures, I keep notice of the clock on the wall - ‘old tick-tock’ I call him. Never stops, except when the caretaker winds him up on Monday morning.

It’s 23 minutes to two, there’s the footsteps in the corridor, right on time. Who is it today?

Oh! I do like her firm grip. Confident she is. Miss Fletcher picks me off the table and carries me out to the playground. Three dings, not too vigourous, what you might call the feminine touch - know what I mean? It is always the same, especially for Miss Fletcher, no reaction from the children. They seem to know they’ve got 15 seconds more - children, that is, play.

Here we go!

‘Clang - bonggg -clang - bonggg - clang, clang, clang.’

Cor! That was a bit much! A real attention getter that was. Shut the noise a treat, it did. The children start getting into line. The playground has gone as silent as the corridor at night. The juniors lead the way and in they all troop. Past my table and off to their classes they go.

Miss Fletcher puts me back on my green baize while she checks the door is closed. I allow my clapper to settle, just a very quiet ding as I get comfortable. My duty is done. I don’t think she heard me settle as she marched off along the corridor. It would be silent if it weren’t for old tick-tock fixed to the wall.

Thank goodness it’s the weekend; I can relax until the caretaker winds the clock on Monday.

Husband Found Guilty By Dr Asoka Thenabadu

2011-02-13T23:17:00.000-08:00

Husband Found Guilty
By
Dr Asoka Thenabadu

“Should I or shouldn’t I?” “Should I or shouldn’t I?” Nihal grappled and agonized with his tormented conscience .It was a very difficult decision. He had been brought up in a traditional Sri Lankan home amid the teachings of the Buddha and what he contemplated now was against the fundamentals of his religion and upbringing as a Buddhist. As the eldest man in the family, he had the responsibility of sorting out all the family problems. The throbbing one sided headache due to his migraine had come on as a result and he had flashes of light which blinded him. He had severe nausea and was near to throwing up his breakfast of milk rice and fish sambol. He would have gladly cut off half his head to get rid of the headache if he could.

He went outside for a walk to clear his head. His majestic ancestral home called ”The Walawe” in Singhalese, meaning the home of the aristocrats, was a massive house with wide verandahs, a central court yard, many large rooms, stables, accommodation for the faithful family retainers, and a granary. It was of early British colonial architecture and had been built on land given to the family by the British authorities in the early 1820’s in exchange for liaising with and managing the subjugated local population. Selling it was unthinkable as the many family members would be aghast at the idea. “Shall I turn it into a Boutique Hotel as most people had done with their “Walawaes?” No this would entail more expense and the returns would be uncertain.”

He then went into the shrine room which held pride of place in his house. The statue of Lord Buddha had an immediate calming influence on him. The fragrant scent of the jasmine, roses and lily flowers that his spinster sister and widowed mother picked from the garden, wafted across and permeated the shrine room. The burning joss sticks gave out a mist of smoke and an aroma that had a very soothing effect on Nihal. After a few minutes of deep contemplation and prayer, revelation came to him. The migraine had become more bearable.
He opened the almirah and pulled out the dummy drawer, revealing the secret drawer, which he opened.

It was all there, reds and blues, sparkling, tantalizing; the fruits from the deep pits that Sri Lanka was famous for .Even King Solomon had sent emissaries to Taprobane to obtain these perfect priceless red rubies and star sapphires. Needless to say, the workmanship of the gold and silver in which the rubies and sapphires were mounted was exquisite and was the work of several generations of the families of finest craftsman of Sri Lanka.
Nihal came from a very aristocratic family with very old fashioned ideas. This included the ways of arranging marriages among the eligible young folk. He himself had studied law at Oxford and had the British views, values and standards on selecting a life partner. However, his mother who was the matriarch of the family continued with trying to arrange a marriage on traditional lines for his spinster sister. Several young men and their extended family from “high class” aristocratic families had visited “to view the bride” but his sister was choosy. She herself had done a MBA from Yale and had modern views but was reluctant to upset her mother and revolt against the system. Finally, a young man who had studied medicine in Melbourne ,”from the right background and with the right connections” with a good sense of humour, was found suitable and was chosen. Then the problems arose! The grooms’ parents being very old fashioned,(and perhaps greedy!) demanded a dowry. Demanded, not requested!(“We need to pay for our son’s expensive medical education in Australia”) Unfortunately, Nihal’s family was unable to provide the large amount of money the family demanded as dowry. Hence Nihal’s predicament, dilemma and Migraine! He usually discussed everything with his loyal supportive, sympathetic sweet wife and he did so on this occasion and got her blessings.

He walked along Sea Street in Colombo, The Gold Bazaar, which was the main road along which there were hundreds of gold and jewellery shops along with the inevitable pawn shops interspersed. He stopped, looked around furtively and quickly walked into a pawn shop that had been recommended, with his precious package. He came out smiling as he had negotiated a good price for his heirlooms and a low rate of interest on redemption in an years’ time. He had a job offer from a British firm of lawyers and he felt sure that he could redeem the heirlooms of precious gems and jewellry when he came back to Sri Lanka on completion of his contract in an year’s time.
Nothing is sacred or secret in the old aristocratic family homes in Sri Lanka. Nihal’s brother in law(whom he called the “bothering law”) complained to the police regarding the missing heirlooms. Nihal was arrested and charged. His case was taken up in the district court.

“I find Mr Nihal Perera, the husband, guilty as charged, of “selling” the family heirlooms, and sentence him to one year in prison” said the district court judge, wearing his ermine cape and wig, a vestigial remnant of the British colonial empire and judicial system that still survived in present day Sri Lanka.
“However, as he has had an exemplary character up to date and as he pawned, not sold, the heirlooms, to give money as dowry for his sister, who is also a member of the family, the sentence is suspended, subject to good behaviour”

940 words

test

2011-02-13T23:13:00.000-08:00

Welcome to the new short story group!

2011-02-11T03:49:00.001-08:00

This is a test message, just to see if it's all working!